Saving Grace
by AnalisaPh54
Summary: Scott finds himself trapped by a landslide until a young boy comes to his aide


**Saving Grace**

CHAPTER 1

Johnny was antsy. This was the third straight day of heavy rain and other than running out to the barn to feed and water the horses; no ranch work could be conducted. He had groomed Barranca so often that the horse actually protested when he saw his master pick up the brush. He had tried reading a book, he had taken enough naps, and he had shined his, Scott's and Murdoch's dress boots. He had raided the pantry until there wasn't anything interesting left to eat.

Johnny stood at the window in stocking feet, the fingers of both hands tucked into the tops of his back pockets. He looked up at the sky wondering if the torrent was ever going to end or if the ranch hands should start building an ark. Scanning the courtyard, there were muddy puddles everywhere. The falling drops actually made bubbles when they joined those which had already collected. Taking his hands out his pockets, he traced a raindrop from the top of the glass to the bottom and then began again with a different one. Quickly board with this simple activity he began to pace around the room.

Murdoch sat comfortably in his chair near the hearth. A bright fire burned in the fireplace and the room was warm and cozy. He was also in stocking feet; his legs crossed at the ankles and resting on the ottoman. He had a glass of bourbon sitting on the small table next to him and a book propped open in his hands. Every so often, he would raise his gaze over the rim of his half-glasses to watch his son. He knew it was hard for Johnny to be so cooped up. He remembered him as a toddler, constantly moving, constantly busy with some activity or another, hating to be indoors and taking off out the door every time he thought no one was watching. Today Johnny was much the same and it was driving Murdoch crazy. Pretending to read, he was actually trying to think of something for his youngest to do – preferably in a different part of the house.

"When's Scott coming home Pa?" Johnny was walking around the perimeter of the large room, picking up knickknacks and examining them closely even though he had seen them hundreds of times before.

"He should be home in a week give or take but if the weather is like this in Stockton or along the trail between here and there, it wouldn't surprise me if it took an extra three or even four days." This must have been the fifth time in the last hour alone that Johnny had asked the same question. Murdoch watched as now his son was trying the run his index finger along the wall and make it all the way around the room without lifting it. A thought finally came to him. "Son, why don't you go up and clean the attic? You're always asking me if you can go up there and look through those old trunks. Would be a perfect day for that sort of thing." He saw a spark in his son's eyes.

"Yah, good idea. Can I Pa? Really?"

"You have my blessings son. If you're not down by suppertime I'll come up to get you. The keys for all the trunks should be hanging on a hook by the door. Better take a lamp. I'm not sure you'll get much light through that little window on such a gray day."

Johnny practically jumped for joy. Ever since he was a child he loved nothing more than to pack and unpack things. His mother used to scold him when all her bottom cupboards were empty and she found her son sitting in the middle of a pile of pots, pans, kettles, lids, tins of food and anything else he could possible get his small hands on from floor level. Sometimes she had put him in his highchair and strapped him into it with a leather belt around his waist so he wouldn't fall out. She would give me a small crate filled with scraps of wood, empty spools, even folded pieces of colored paper. He could sit there for hours in utter delight taking everything out and putting everything back over and over and over.

Murdoch chuckled to himself as Johnny bounded up the front stairs. Only a moment later, he heard the attic door open – and made a mental note to have someone oil the squeaky hinges. With the conglomeration of items up there Johnny could spend days going through it all. Murdoch took a sip of bourbon, exhaled a relaxing breath and went back to his reading. It was nice not having someone interrupting him every couple minutes even if it was his beloved son.

Scott had left for Denver almost three weeks ago. Murdoch had decided to purchase a new breed of cattle that had been written about in a brochure Scott had brought back from the last Cattleman's Association meeting. Checking around, he kept being referred to a rancher in Junction Springs about twenty miles west of Denver. Scott had asked if he could go on Lancer's behalf and Murdoch thought it would be a good learning experience for him. He told his son to purchase two bulls and thirty breeding head. He wired most of the money ahead to the Denver bank so that Scott wouldn't have to carry it on the road.

Scott rode the stage to Stockton then took the train to Denver. The plan was to ship the animals back to Stockton by rail where Nick Barkley would meet the train along with enough hands to drive the cattle back to Lancer. The wages and transportation was costing more than the stock but if what the brochure touted was true, Murdoch would clear a profit within a short time. The wire advising Murdoch that the herd had arrived and that the men would start the drive the next morning was received just yesterday.

Murdoch glanced up and out the window. The rain fell in a steady downpour. He was concerned about the weather in that he didn't know just how far north the current front was running. Concerned but not worried. He knew his son and he knew Nick Barkley and neither one would risk man or beast to travel in such conditions. They would most likely find shelter along the trail and, if possible, telegraph both ranches to let them know.

CHAPTER 2

The rain had stopped just north of Los Banos. The roads between there and Stockton were muddy but the sun had broken through just that morning and a day or two would surely dry them out completely. Nick put his hands in charge of the herd then told Scott his mother had insisted he come for dinner and stay overnight. He didn't have to ask twice. There was a time when Scott had had a terrible crush on Nick's sister Audra. Nick had brought an extra mount for Scott who hoisted himself up in the saddle. They took it slow until Scott got used to the horse and because the trail to the ranch was still rather slick with mud. Besides it was only late afternoon so they had plenty of time to get to the Barkley ranch before dark.

Victoria heard the boys ride up and met them at the front door. She gave Scott a brief hug and then ushered him into the immense foyer. She instructed Silas to take him up to the guest room so that he could freshen up and then informed Scott dinner would be served in a half hour. Scott followed Silas up the curving staircase and down one wing of the second floor. He was ushered into a spacious and beautifully furnished bedroom with an equally spacious water closet attached along the west wall.

Scott tossed his saddlebags on the bed, followed by his hat and then his gun belt. He crossed over to the mirror to find that actually he looked pretty good for having been on the trail for as long as he had been. He finger combed his hair, wrung out a cloth in fresh water and wiped his face and neck. His shirt had been kept clean by his jacket. He considered a shave but reasoned he really didn't have time and not shaving would be better than showing up at dinner with cuts and nicks all over his face and neck. Taking one last look, Scott left the room and made his way back down the corridor to the stairs.

"Mother, didn't I hear our guest arrive?" Audra asked, coming from the dining room. Victoria was just about to explain to Audra she had sent Scott upstairs to the guest room when Audra looked up and found him just about to descend the stairs. She met Scott's eyes with a warm smile upon her lips. Scott gripped the banister tightly. The last thing he wanted was to tumble down the steps and land in a heap right at Audra's feet. The girl took a few steps forward and grabbed his hand when he came within reach. "Welcome to our home Mr. Lancer. Won't you come in the front parlor and have a drink with us before dinner?" Audra held his hand in one of hers and placed her other hand lightly on his arm.

Victoria was sitting in a velvet wing chair holding a glass of sherry. Audra's three brothers stood near the sideboard, each with a drink in his hand. Heath took a step forward and extended his hand to shake Scott's. "Good to see you again, Scott. You know Nick but I don't think you've ever met my older brother Jarrod."

"Welcome Scott," Jarrod said, shaking Scott's hand. "Drink?"

"Yes please." Nick poured a generous portion of bourbon in a glass and held it out to his guest. Scott took a sip. He felt like he was being evaluated by all three men and studied closely by both women. He was relieved when Mrs. Barkley finally inquired as to Murdoch's health and wellbeing.

Scott turned around to find Audra standing behind her mother's chair with her hands resting on top of its curved back. "My father is very well ma'am. He sends his warmest regards." Victoria smiled.

"Did he get the last case of wine I sent?"

"Yes, yes it arrived safely. It's Murdoch's favorite. We always enjoy it on special occasions."

"Oh dear boy, you must enjoy it more often. Remind me to send him another case."

Scott nodded slightly and took another sip of bourbon. "That's very kind of you Mrs. Barkley. I assure you we will all appreciate it very much." Just then Silas walked into the foyer and announced that dinner was being served. Audra hurried to Scott's side and looped her arm through his. Jarrod walked around them to take his mother's arm. Scott stepped aside to let Victoria lead them into dinner on the arm of her eldest son.

"I know you're Nick's guest, but I saved a seat right next to me just for you Mr. Lancer." Audra purred.

"Scott, please. Mr. Lancer is my father!" He teased.

"Very well, Scott." Scott held out Audra's chair until she was settled and then sat down in the chair next to hers. Victoria sat at the head of the table and Jarrod at the opposite end with Nick and Heath directly across.

Scott tried to conceal his nervousness at being in such close proximity to Audra. She was even more beautiful than he remembered with her long blonde hair worn in such a simple style and yet a perfect complement to her azure blue silk gown; the color of which matched her eyes perfectly. After Silas had served the meal, Scott waited for the ladies to pick up their forks before picking up his.

"I hope you like veal Scott. We don't have it very often but it is one of my absolute favorites." Victoria commented. The diners ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was exquisite. "So Scott, you are from Boston if I recall correctly. Why don't you tell us about life on the east coast and how you're adjusting to life here in the wild, wild west."

From that point forward conversation centered around Boston, Harvard, the activities Scott had enjoyed back east and how he missed some of them out here but he was quick to elaborate on his new adventurers. Nick asked about the cattle so Scott explained how his father's plan was to be implemented. During dessert, Jarrod exchanged banter with Scott over the pros and cons of Harvard vs. Yale where he was an alumnus. When the meal was finished, Scott rose and held Audra's chair then Audra looped her arm through his and held his hand with her other one. Strolling back toward the parlor, she asked Scott if he would like to go for a short walk – just to get a little fresh air but Nick was quick to interrupt.

"No time for walking. Time for sleeping. We've got to get up with the sun tomorrow morning." He said in his deep baritone voice, catching Scott's eye.

Scott turned toward Audra and pulled his hand and arm free of her grasp. "I'm sorry I can't accept your invitation but I'm afraid Nick is correct. The hands will be expecting us at sunup. It's a long way back to Lancer." Audra pushed her bottom lip out into a pout and glared at her brother. Scott turned to Victoria. "I wish you a good night ma'am. Thank you for inviting me to stay in your fine home and for the wonderful meal." Victoria smiled and bid him and her son a restful night's sleep. As Scott followed Nick up the stairs, he glanced downward over the bannister and found Audra watching him closely.

When Scott woke up the next morning, the room was flooded with sunlight. Forcing his eyes open wider against the harsh glare, he could tell by the sun's position that he had overslept. Jumping out of bed, he quickly dressed, grabbed his bags, hat and gun belt and hurried down the hall. As he descended the stairs, he found Nick standing just this side of the front door pulling on his black leather gloves. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Nick grunted, curled his fingers into fists and rested them on his hips. "Because my mother and my sister wouldn't let me!" He huffed.

"I don't understand." Scott said stepping off the bottom stair and into the foyer. Just then Audra and her mother came in from the dining room.

"Ask them. I've got a cattle drive to get into gear." Nick stepped out the door, closing it solidly behind him. Scott gave the two women a puzzled look.

"Mother and I," Audra murmured, looking at Victoria who merely nodded slightly. "Want you to stay a couple extra days. We hardly ever get to see you and there is just so much to talk about."

Scott glanced over his shoulder at the back of the door. He could imagine steam coming out of Nick's ears. "Well, I appreciate . . ."

"We won't take no for an answer, will we mother?" Scott turned his attention back to the women.

"We certainly won't." Victoria stated firmly. "Now you go right back upstairs. Take a nice hot bath, shave, we'll hold breakfast for you." Scott swallowed. He looked from one woman's eyes to the other. There was really no use in arguing. Their minds were made up.

"But the cattle . . ."

"We discussed the drive with Nick while he ate breakfast. Even if you stay an extra three days, you will have no trouble catching up with them, especially if you take the mesa trail. It's a slow go driving cattle, especially over muddy roads and I understand the rain is still falling south of here." Victoria obviously had the whole situation well under control. "Now go take that bath. Do you have a change of clothes? If not, I think Heath might have something that will fit you."

"No ma'am. That won't be necessary. I have clean clothes in my saddlebags."

"Good. Pile your dirty clothes on the floor next to the tub. I'll make sure they are washed and pressed and ready for you when you leave. Come Audra, let's go ensure the chef is holding Scott's breakfast." With that they turned and walked toward the back of the house.

Scott stood a minute trying to sort through everything that had just happened. Finally, a smile broke across his lips and he sprinted up the stairs and into his room. He could handle a few extra days' rest. A few extra days of good food. A few extra days in the company of a certain young lady with long blonde hair and a sweet demure smile.

CHAPTER 3

The clock in the corner of the parlor had just finished striking six times. Murdoch decided to give Johnny another five minutes. If he didn't come down by then, Murdoch would have to go up and get him. He read a few more pages in his book. Finally tearing himself away, he marked his place, took off his glasses, tossed them on the table and, standing, swallowed the last of his bourbon. Climbing up the front stairs then rounding the corner he saw the attic door standing open, a shaft of light triangling down the stairs. "Johnny," he called out. "Come on son. Time for supper."

"Just a minute Pa." Just a minute to Johnny was like saying I'll see you on Sunday. Trudging up the steep attic steps, Murdoch saw his youngest son sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning against the west wall of the room, a pile of papers in his lap, and intently reading what appeared to be a letter. Crossing over to where he sat, Murdoch shoved his hands in his front pockets.

"Find something interesting?"

"Ah ha," Johnny mumbled. Murdoch stooped down and picked up one of the envelopes. He had completely forgotten about the collection of letters he had stashed up here over the years. Now here sat his youngest son, reading one of them with rapt attention. Murdoch felt a nervous tension across his shoulders. Just what were the letters conveying to Johnny?

"Come on son. Supper's getting cold."

"Yah, okay Pa. You go down and start eating. I'll be right there, I'm almost done." Johnny's eyes never left the paper; he held a look of deep concentration on his face. Murdoch sighed wishing he could remember the details these letters held. His son obviously found something quite captivating to pay such close attention, especially when there was food to be had. Johnny finished the letter, refolded it and put it back in the envelope. Jumping to his feet, he wiped his hands across the backside of his jeans to brush off the dust. "Well, what are we waiting for? I thought you said supper was ready." Murdoch rolled his eyes as Johnny squeezed his way around his father and bounded down the stairs.

Nick shouted out specific instructions to the men waiting by the pen. He had years of experience on driving cattle and this particular drive was going to be done his way or no way. Asking if any of the hands had questions, and with no one speaking up, Nick gave the order to open the gates. When the steers tried to run free, they were quickly corralled on both sides and formed into a line of no more than three cows across. If the men could keep them in formation the drive would go smoothly. Nick had not planned to stop until sundown. He knew the horses would be fine until then because of the cooler weather and the slow pace. Although he tried to be angry at Scott, he just couldn't do it. It wasn't his fault, it was Audra's. His sister had a way of wrapping their mother around her little finger and once she got Victoria on her side, she knew she would get anything she asked for and that something today was Scott. He had seen the way she fawned over him from the minute he came in the door and, if not mistaken, he had seen a certain enamored look in Scott's eyes as well. He snickered. "Poor Scott," he muttered. "He doesn't know what he's in for."

Scott grew more relaxed around Audra. She had packed a picnic lunch and they were now riding around the ranch on a guided tour led by the young lady. Urging her mount forward, Scott followed her up a rather steep incline. Reining up at the top, she waited for him to come alongside. "You can see practically the whole valley from up here," she said, scanning the land below. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Very. There is a hilltop much like this at home where you can look down over Lancer. My brother and I like to go up there sometimes and just sit leaning against this massive oak tree and simply take in the scenery. If I can't find Johnny in the barn with his horse, I know I'll find him up there. It's kind of our special place." Audra hopped off her mount and led him to some nearby shade. Scott road his horse over next to hers before swinging out of the saddle.

"This is the perfect place for our picnic, don't you think?" Audra untied the blanket from the back of her saddle and Scott grabbed the saddlebags into which she had packed the food. They spent the entire afternoon up there just talking about family, travel, pretty much anything that came to mind. Scott felt a pang of sadness when it was time to go back to the house. He knew he would be leaving to catch up to the drive early the next morning and would miss his time together with Audra. He wished he could find someone just like her back at Lancer.

Nick had made good headway. The roads had dried out considerably and the cattle were well behaved. The men could ride easy and not have to be constantly chasing and roping strays. He could see further south, however, that heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky. Rain. Nick had driven cattle in the rain before but certainly wasn't looking forward to it. The going would slow considerably if the roads became mud bogged. The men would get crabby because of constantly being wet and cold. Shelter would be limited along the road and he knew they might have to drive the herd further into the tree line in order to wait out any downpours. Oh well, that was tomorrow's worry. Tonight it was time to make camp, eat some hot food and get what sleep they could.

Johnny feigned fatigue all through supper; yawning, letting his eyelids droop, picking at his meal. Murdoch finally asked him if he wasn't feeling well to which Johnny said he didn't think he was getting sick, that he was just really sleepy. Immediately after the meal, he excused himself telling his father that he thought he would make an early night of it and go to bed. Murdoch felt his son's forehead. Johnny was especially susceptible to fevers and a fever was usually the first symptom he exhibited when coming down with something. Johnny's forehead was cool. Murdoch shrugged, wished his youngest good night, settled back in his chair and picked up his book. He could finish it in a couple hours, especially without interruptions.

Johnny dragged himself up the front stairs. However, once out of his father's line of sight, he sprinted to the end of the hall and up the attic steps. Scooping up as many envelopes as he could, he tiptoed back down the attic stairs and made a beeline to his bedroom. Johnny found the letters fascinating and wanted to read as many as possible fearing that if his father was at all suspicious about what was in them, Murdoch might confiscate them and lock them in his room somewhere or, worse yet, destroy them.

Johnny quickly undressed, climbed under the covers and plumped the pillow behind his head. He tucked a good handful of the letters under the covers as well and placed the rest under the far side of his bed. He knew his father would check on him before retiring and that he would have to make a quick move into pretended sleep so Murdoch wouldn't suspect anything. He picked up the first letter from the top of the pile, unfolded it and began to read. A couple hours later, Johnny heard the jiggle of his father's hand on his bedroom door knob. The knob had been loose and no one had gotten around to fixing it – which, in this case, was a good thing. Johnny shoved the letter under the quilt, rolled to face the wall, pulled the covers up over his shoulder and shut his eyes. There was no time to blow out the lamp but Johnny was always falling asleep with the light on and so it wouldn't raise suspicion.

As expected, Murdoch crossed to his son's bed, tugged the quilt up a little further on his son's shoulder and blew out the lamp. Johnny waited a good ten minutes after his father left then rolled over on his opposite side, relit the lamp and pulled out the letter he had yet to finish reading. Johnny read well into the early morning hours, finally falling asleep with a letter still clutched in his hand.

After checking on his son, Murdoch bypassed his own room and crept up the attic stairs. The lid of the trunk still stood open, braced against its locked hinges. He made quick work of tiptoeing over to it. There were a few envelopes scattered on the floor where Johnny had left them but a good many of the letters were missing. Murdoch had hoped to gather them all up and take them down to his bedroom. He could remember the gist of the messages but not all the details and he wanted to skim through them and remove any that, perhaps, Johnny shouldn't read. Gritting his teeth, he reasoned that Johnny had already nabbed them and had probably either hidden them somewhere else in the attic or taken them to his room. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. Spying the ring of keys still hanging by the key in the trunk's lock, he pulled them free and removed two of them. He put the key back in the trunk's lock and dropped the pair of keys he had removed in his shirt pocket. At least he could keep come secrets.

CHAPTER 4

Scott shared breakfast with Audra and Victoria the next morning. Jarrod had already left for town and Heath for ranch work. Nick had drawn a rough sketch of how to get to the mesa trail which Victoria handed to him. After allowing him to become familiar with it, she asked if he had any questions but Scott said no, that it was a good map and he was sure he would have no trouble. After the meal, he thanked both of them for a most pleasant time and for their hospitality. Victoria had ordered one of the hands to saddle Scott's borrowed horse and tether it to the hitching post near the home's front door. Wishing him a safe trip back to Lancer and to extend her regards to his father, she ascended the stairs to her bedroom. Audra insisted on walking Scott out to his mount before saying her goodbyes. Scott tied his saddlebags onto the horse's back and gathered the reins.

"You will come back and visit us again, won't you?" Audra murmured.

"Of course. The very next time I have some time off. But you know, you . . .and your family," he quickly added. "Are always welcome at Lancer too." An awkward moment of silence hung over them. "Well, I better be going if I want to catch up to the drive. Actually, I'd like to get a little ahead of them before coming down off the mesa so I can scout out some shelter if necessary. Thank you for the picnic and showing me the Barkley ranch." Scott grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and lifted his foot to slide it through the stirrup. Just before he hoisted himself upward, Audra put a hand on his arm and, rising on tiptoe, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Once mounted, Scott smiled down at her and tipped his hat. Audra stepped back out of his way as Scott reined the horse to his right and broke the animal into a slow trot. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Audra wave from the front steps.

Following Nick's drawing, Scott had an easy time finding the trail which lead up to the top of the mesa. He found the ground fairly dry with no standing water or mud so he spurred his mount into a canter. The view of the valley from atop the mesa was breathtaking and, as little attention to his horse was necessary, he enjoyed the rolling green hillsides and meadows. Alternating between a trot and a canter, Scott made good time. If Nick was just starting out on his third day, Scott should be able to catch up with them in a relatively short time and get a little ahead of the drove in less than another half-day. Stopping to rest his horse, Scott reached into one saddlebag and pulled out a couple biscuits that Mrs. Barkley insisted he take with him. She had had Silas pack him three days' worth of food stuffs so he wouldn't go hungry before catching up with Nick and the supply wagon. Tethering his horse to a tree which provided the animal some shade, Scott crossed over to sit near the edge of the west ridge where he could enjoy his snack while scanning the distant scenery.

Scott rode until just after sundown, made camp, tended to his horse and built a fire. It would be chilly during the night so he gathered extra wood, donned his rain slicker and put down the extra blanket he had with him. He slept well and woke just after sunup. Ensuring the fire was out he saddled his horse, tied his bedroll and saddlebags on the animal's back, mounted and took off. Far to the south, Scott spotted the same rain clouds that Nick had previously seen. They looked to be quite far off in the distance but he knew that the weather could change in the blink of an eye.

The rain started around midday. It came in steady sheets at an angle that only served to drive it in and around the collars of the rain slickers the men had donned earlier. Nick was gritting his teeth between cusses. He had sent two men ahead to scout for shelter and when they returned they informed their boss they had found nothing better than a dense clump of trees about a half mile up the trail. The road quickly muddied. The cattle were having trouble maintaining their balance as their hoofs sank in the mire. They were more likely to stray out of formation to walk on the sides of the trail where there was more grass but that meant that some cows were moving faster than others and Nick knew that would never work. He told the men to pull off the road when they got to that clump of hickory trees, rope off a tight area using the tree trunks for anchors and drive the cows into it. Thankfully each man's bedroll was wrapped into a tarp and they could use the tarps to roof off an area in which to build a fire and make camp. They would just have to wait out the weather.

By late afternoon on Scott's second day of travel, he noticed the ground was spongier and that the horse had more trouble keeping up a cantering gait. He slowed the animal into a trot so his mount wouldn't slip and possibly break a leg. It had started to drizzle quite heavily and Scott knew that if he rode much further, he would be riding right into a full blown downpour. He had been watching for a place of possible shelter for some time and hadn't really seen any other than the semi-protected base under a large tree. Deciding it would be his best bet, he made camp early while he still had the possibility of finding some wood with which to build a fire before it, too, was soaked.

Tying up the horse as close to the trunk of the tree as possible, he loosened the cinch but left the saddle in place. He pulled up the hood of his slicker and hurriedly gathered what wood he could find, which wasn't going to be enough to last through the night. He decided he would wait as long as possible before starting the fire so that it would burn through at least the coldest hours. Taking off his slicker, he used some scraps of leather lacing and tied it up between two low-hanging branches; the hem to one branch and the hood to the other. Using another piece of lacing, he pulled the right side of the slicker out as far as he could and tied it to the trunk thus creating a makeshift roof. He piled the wood underneath, wrapped the blankets of his bedroll around his upper body and sat down on a semi-dry piece of ground. Leaning back against the tree trunk, he knew he wouldn't get any sleep unless, by some miracle, the rain stopped which right now looked very doubtful.

Nick and his men spent a miserable night in the rain drenched patch of land off the main trail. They had managed to find enough firewood to last through the night, but all the men were chilled to the bone nonetheless. Nick, sitting against a tree trunk facing east, was the first to see it. Sunrise – an actual sunrise, complete with sun. It broke brightly over the crest of the distant hill. Mumbling a thanks to God, he struggled to his feet and called to the men. It would take them some time to get the cattle back to the trail and into formation and he knew the road would still be mired down with mud, but at least the men could dry out some and get warmed up.

Nick used his gloved hand to shield his eyes and squinted toward the south. He could still make out some dark clouds but they seemed farther away and appeared to be headed easterly toward the mountains. A good sign. If the sky remained clear and the sun remained bright, the roads would dry out quickly and they could make up some lost time. He wondered for a moment where Scott might be and turned to his east to scan the mesa but couldn't see any movement. Well, he reasoned, if Scott had left the day he said he would he should catch up with them late today or tomorrow by mid-morning for sure.

Scott slowly opened his eyes. He couldn't believe the rain had stopped, although the last drops of it still dripped off the leaves over his head. He had fallen asleep with his head hanging down on his chest and now lifted it against cramped muscles. Rolling it slowly from side to side, he rubbed away the slight headache that made his forehead feel tight. Forcing himself to his feet, he groaned at the catch in his back and twisted left to right at the waist in order to break it. There was still a chill in the air, mostly due to dampness, so Scott untied his slicker, shook off the moisture and shrugged into it. The fire had extinguished itself, but Scott still toed it with his boot to make sure. He tightened the cinch on his mount, used his sleeve to brush the water from the saddle and hoisted himself up. Once clear of the tree, Scott – and his horse, for that matter – could fully appreciate the effects of the sun. He was already feeling warmer and drier. He could no longer see any dark clouds to the south. He would have to keep the horse at a trot until the ground began to dry out but would still make good time. Scott reasoned he would catch up to the drove my sundown.

Murdoch made a big, steaming pot of oatmeal for breakfast. Even though fires burned in all the fireplaces, the house was still chilly. He was just dishing up the cereal when Johnny came down. "Morning," he said. "Here. Good and hot."

"Mornin' Pa," Johnny managed to state before a broad yawn overtook his voice. He carried the bowl over to the table where he found some sliced fruit, brown sugar, cinnamon, raisins and a picture of milk.

"Coffee should be done in a minute." Murdoch stated, sitting down in his chair at the head of the table. He sprinkled a little sugar and a little cinnamon on his oatmeal and then tossed a couple slices of peaches on top. "Sleep good?" Johnny nodded, his mouth full. "You fell asleep with the lamp lit again son. You have to be more careful."

"Sorry Pa," Johnny mumbled. "I don't know why I was suddenly so tired last night. I guess just being cooped up in the house; not getting any fresh air and exercise." Murdoch started to stand to walk over to fetch the coffee but Johnny waved him back down with his hand as he swallowed another spoonful of oatmeal. "I'll get it." Johnny filled both their cups and returned to his chair to finish his breakfast. "Still rainin' ain't it." Johnny said, more as a statement than a question.

"Yes, still coming down pretty good. I did notice, however, that the sky to the north is clearing up and the clouds seem to be moving east so maybe by tomorrow we'll see some sun. I sure hope the drive is coming along okay. I don't envy any man who was to drive cattle in the rain."

"Well," Johnny said, draining his cup. "As long as I'm gonna be stuck in the house again all day, I think I'll go back up in the attic and poke around some more, if that's okay with you. Did you finish your book?"

"Yes, yes last night. Excellent story. You should read it sometime." Murdoch desperately wanted to ask Johnny about the letters but that would only serve to make a potentially uncomfortable subject even more obvious. Taking a swallow of coffee, Murdoch subconsciously padded his shirt pocket to ensure the two keys where still there. "Go ahead. Have fun. I'll call you for lunch."

Johnny smiled and was wiping his mouth with his napkin when he suddenly stopped and cocked his head to his left. "Did you hear that?" he asked. Murdoch listened but heard nothing. "That kinda low . . . rumble, almost like thunder but real far away." Both men paused once more to listen.

"Sorry son but I don't hear anything."

Johnny drew his eyebrows together. "No. No I don't hear it any more. Strange. I could swear . . .Guess my mind is just playing tricks on me." Johnny grinned at his father, stood and pushed his chair under the table then turned and bounded up the back stairs. He hurried to his room and grabbed the letters he had finished reading so he could put them back. Maybe his father wouldn't notice.

Johnny spent the entire day digging through trunks. He wolfed down his lunch, returned to hurriedly eat his supper but then right back up the steps he went. There certainly was a lot of stuff up there, mostly packed away in crates and steamer trunks. It was like being on a treasure hunt. Murdoch found him rummaging around in a different trunk when he checked on Johnny before going to bed. "Finding lots of good stuff?"

"Some. Found a trunk of your old clothes today. Pretty funny!" Johnny chuckled.

"Well, that was the style way back then. I was considered quite fashionable in my younger days. Probably make good Halloween costumes. We'll have to remember them."

"Hey Pa, back there in the south corner," Johnny pointed. "Under those old rugs and curtains and stuff, there are two trunks but none of these keys open em'. Any ideas?"

Murdoch hated to lie to his son but it was a necessary evil in this particular circumstance. "Hmm, I thought all the keys were on the same ring. I know those trunks had keys at one time. I'll have to look through my drawers and see if I can find them. Just leave them be for now. I'm sure there are enough others to keep you occupied. Well, good night son. Don't stay up here too late and remember . . ." Murdoch pointed his index finger. "blow out your lamp BEFORE you get in bed. That way you won't fall asleep with it burning."

"Good idea, Pa. I'll try to remember. Sleep good." Murdoch descended the attic steps slowly. He was tempted to turn around, apologize to his son and hand him the keys from his pocket and he told himself he would do just that . . . someday. But not now. Some secrets needed to be revealed slowly, not all in one big admission and what those trunks held . . . well . . . slowly would definitely be better."

Disappointed in the trinkets he found in the trunk he had currently been digging through, he moved some junk aside and knelt down in front of another one. He tried several keys until one of them turned in the lock. Lifting the lid and locking the hinges, Johnny's eyes twinkled. More letters. Dozens of them. He glanced around to ensure he wasn't being watched, grabbed all that he could, even stuffing some of them down inside his shirt, closed the lid gently and took off to his room. He stopped in his tracks for just a minute, recalling what his father had said about the lamp. Finally he tossed the letters on the foot end of his bed, hopped up – fully clothed – to lean back against the headboard and dropped a handful in his lap. Johnny reasoned that there was no way he was going to fall asleep fully dressed and so he began reading.

A couple of different times, he could have sworn he heard his brother's voice. Once he even got up and looked out the window toward the barn, thinking maybe Scott had called out that he was home, but he wasn't due for at least another few days. Johnny padded across the hall in his stocking feet and opened his brother's bedroom door. The room held a chill and the further he advanced, the colder the room became. He checked to make sure the window was all the way down, which it was. Johnny paused and stared down at Scott's bed, almost as though he expected to see him lying there. He lifted one hand and rested it on his belly. Johnny had the strangest feeling in his gut. Shaking his head while crossing back to his own room, he reasoned that his stomach was probably just upset because he had eaten his supper too quickly. Johnny resumed his position on his bed and picked up another letter. Thinking about it for a minute, he finally cocked his head a little to one side. "I'm reading all these letters addressed to Scott. That's why I'm thinking about him. Dah!" He chuckled at himself for being so dense and resumed his reading. He awoke in the morning, covered with folded and unfolded sheets of paper, empty envelopes and the lamp still burning.

From his vantage point atop the mesa, Scott saw a cloud of dust about a mile or so further south and reasoned it must be the herd. He had made good time and still had an hour or so before sunset to ride ahead. He urged his mount into a canter and soon overtook the drove. Riding on another three or four miles, he started looking for a trail – or at least an easier path – down off the mesa and a clearing free of enough trees to make his way to the main road. Scott finally eyed a way down that didn't appear to be too steep for the horse to maneuver as long as he took it slow. Allowing the animal to set the pace, Scott leaned his weight backward in a counter attempt to balance his mount. The horse proved sure footed and it didn't take as long as he thought to reach the bottom. There was a narrow dirt trail just a little wider than a horse with rider. Scott followed this trail for a little ways until he spied a clearing up ahead that would take him to the main road. He planned to make camp right on the other side of the main trail and stay a couple miles ahead of the drove looking for shelter if needed.

The narrow trail he had been following eventually wound its way alongside a shallow creek, probably one that had been dried up until the recent rains. The water was running swiftly over the few rocks in its path and looked clean. Scott decided to fill his canteens and let his horse drink and then cross. Swinging down from the saddle, Scott grabbed his saddlebags with the intent of chowing down another biscuit, and both canteens. Shaking them he found one entirely empty and the other only about a quarter full. He tossed the saddlebags aside and led his mount to the edge of the creek, where he dropped the reins. The animal immediately started drinking. Scott stood a couple feet above his horse, unscrewed the cap of one canteen and stooped down to let it fill. That's when it happened.

Scott hear a strange cracking noise, like someone stepping on dry twigs. Standing, he began screwing the cap back on the canteen while glancing around. It could have been an animal, even a mountain lion. Scott's horse had his ears laid back nearly flat against its head, a sign the animal was frightened or uncomfortable. Scott heard more cracking. He swung around, concerned that a big cat might be perched above his head on the edge of the mesa. But it wasn't a big cat. The recent torrents had soaked far enough into the soil to loosen the rock that made up the steep sides of the mesa. Generating a low rumble like distant thunder those rocks were now sliding right toward Scott and sliding fast. He threw the canteen at the horse's rump and the animal took off like a shot. Scott tried to run but his feet were frozen in place. His eyes widened as the landslide came right for him.

CHAPTER 5

It was dark when Scott came to. His head was pounding. It took a minute for him to recall what had happened. Bending his left arm upward, he gently probed the back of his head. There was no fracture, at least not one he could feel, not even a lump. Luckily his skull had landed on the softer soil near the creek. When Scott tried to push himself up on his elbows, he discovered his right arm and part of his hand were trapped under a pile of small rocks held in place from the top by a larger boulder. He wiggled his fingers and didn't have any pain so figured at least his hand wasn't broken. He didn't know about his wrist or his arm as he couldn't move them at all. He tried to push himself up with just his left arm but as soon as he tightened the muscles of his abdomen to sit up, he groaned loudly and dropped back down. Taking a couple shallow breaths, he used his free hand to feel along the path of the pain. He felt at least two, maybe even three, broken ribs.

Scott lay back for a few minutes, closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. He thought about his little brother. Johnny had been hurt worse than this and still managed to get himself to somewhere he knew he could find help. "Come on little brother. Send some of your strength to me. I need help." he whispered. If he could drag himself across the creek and make it to the main trail he would be found in the morning by Nick and the drovers.

Scott remembered being in the war. Dead bodies scattered all around him. The enemy thought he was dead too or they would have shot him again. Scott had laid motionless with his eyes closed until the field around him was quiet except for the cries of a couple wounded men. He had been shot in the right thigh. It burned like hell itself. He recalled grabbing hold of a strip of cloth laying on the ground next to him and waving it. A medic ran to his side immediately. Knowing help had arrived, Scott relaxed enough to lose consciousness. He awoke two days later in a military hospital.

Scott opened his eyes to reassure himself he was indeed not back in the war. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead and upper lip. It was then that he realized he couldn't feel his right leg at all. He tried to move it but nothing happened. Wincing and gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself up just enough to look down at it. His right leg disappeared underneath a huge boulder just a fraction below his hip. He immediately knew there was no possibly way he could free himself. He dropped back down crying out slightly against the pain in his side. He was almost afraid to try moving his left leg. What if it was trapped too? Taking a deep breath and concentrating, he slowly commanded his left leg to move and it did. He bent the knee and, although sore, nothing seemed to be broken. He paused a minute to reassess.

Scott inventoried his body from his head down: no skull fracture he could feel, no wetness or stickiness around his head or on his face, his right arm was totally numb, his right wrist hurt but was not painful, his right fingers moved without impairment or pain, he had two or three broken ribs on the left side, his left arm and hand seemed fine and his left leg and foot moved on command and without pain which meant nothing was broken. Scott, always the analytical thinker, actually felt a little less frightened knowing what worked and what didn't.

Scott tried to look around himself to see if there was anything he could reach that might help him get through the night but it was just too dark. There was no moon. His mind started to reason: he had worn his slicker which would help somewhat, separating him from the damp ground and keeping him warmer than if he didn't have it. He wished for Barranca who was trained to come when whistled for and seemed to understand the command to go get help but, alas, his little brother's horse was home in the nice safe, warm barn probably being fed and groomed right now by his master. He didn't know much about the mount he had scared out of the way of the landslide. He reasoned if anything it would go back to the Barkley ranch, but that could take days. He knew Nick and the drovers would be coming down the main trail sometime early tomorrow. In daylight, he might be able to reach something he could wave or, if not, he could try to shout out, hoping someone might hear him. The known signal for trouble out here was firing three shots in a row but as he wore his gun on his right hip it was trapped under the boulder pinning down his leg. He had a small, sharp pocket knife and a pocket watch but they were both in his right pants pocket so they wouldn't do him any good either. He was defenseless. His two greatest fears were mountain lions and rattlesnakes. Either one could kill him. The only difference was a cat attack would end his life quickly and the bite of a rattler would mean a slow and painful death.

Scott suddenly found himself very sleepy. He knew that could be a sign of a concussion and that he needed to somehow keep himself awake. Scott tried to imagine that Murdoch and Johnny were sitting on the sofa in the parlor and that he was standing in front of the fireplace. Scott began to sing and sang every song he knew. When he ran out, he started all over again. Murdoch and his little brother were smiling and clapping and Johnny even crooned along to a couple tunes, but he sang off key and Murdoch kept jabbing him in the side with his elbow to get him to quit.

Scott's voice was getting hoarse; his throat dry. Water was so close and yet so far. He stretched out his left arm above his head as far as he could. Just the tips of his fingers touched the creek but that was better than nothing. He brought them to his lips and spread the welcome moisture across them. He repeated this action until his arm got so tired the muscles began quivering but he had managed to get a little water into his mouth and moisten his tongue. Scott rested his arm until the ache dissipated and then began again. His eyelids were so heavy he just couldn't keep them open anymore but that was okay, he thought, he could close his eyes yet still technically be awake and that was the most important thing.

Murdoch tossed and turned all night, sleeping for only minutes at a time. He reasoned that it was because he was concerned about what Johnny might be finding out in those letters. Finally, well before sunup, he rose. Shrugging into his robe, his tied the belt around his waist then shoved his feet into his slippers. Exiting into the hallway, he glanced in the direction of the attic and saw that Johnny had left the door wide open. Walking in that direction with the intention of closing it, he instead climbed the stairs and lit the lamp. Carrying it over to the trunk in which his son had found the letters, he noticed that quite a few of them had reappeared. He cleared off an old kitchen chair and moved it over nearer the trunk. He put the lamp on a small table that Johnny had used and picked up the top letter. Wishing he had his glasses, which were in the parlor, he pulled the folded sheet of paper out and opened it. Perhaps the writing was large enough and the ink dark enough to where he could read it without them. The envelope was address to Master Scott G. Lancer, Boston and dated February 1854.

As Murdoch recognized his own handwriting, he could almost remember word for word what he had written all those many years ago. It brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his heart. He sat there for hours reading letter after letter until he heard Johnny's bedroom door open and the door to the water closet close. Quickly dropping the envelopes back into the trunk and blowing out the lamp, he peered up the hallway from the top step. He could hear the water running in the tub and knew his son wouldn't catch him, so he left the door exactly as he had found it and tiptoed back to his bedroom.

Murdoch dressed and combed his hair. He told himself he would come back upstairs after breakfast when the water closet was vacant and shave. Heading down the front stairs, he prepared the morning's coffee and sat the pot on the stove. Turning back to place a couple cups on the table, his attention was drawn to Scott's chair. Setting the cups down, Murdoch suddenly had the overpowering feeling that he just needed to touch it. He slowly and lovingly ran his hand over the smooth oak of the arched back. He was overcome with the need to have his son home, safe and sound. He could feel in his gut that something was wrong. The aroma of the coffee drew his attention and he retrieved the pot and filled both cups knowing Johnny would be down any minute. Taking his place at the head of the table, he continued to stare at Scott's empty chair. A thought flashed across his mind. Would he ever see him sitting in it again?

Johnny came slowly down the back steps, boots in hand. "Mornin' Pa." He pulled back the curtain over the kitchen window and ducked his head down slightly to look up at the heavens. Finally the rain had stopped. Clouds still drifted across the sky but they were white and fluffy, not dark and menacing like the days prior. "I think maybe the sun might come out later. I guess I'll have to leave the attic alone for a while and play rancher again!" Receiving no response, he turned to find Murdoch evidently hadn't heard a word. Crossing the kitchen, he waved a hand in front of his father's face a couple time. "Are you in there Pa?"

Murdoch startled. "What? Oh Johnny. When did you come down? I poured your coffee. I hope it isn't cold." He looked down at the cup he held between his own hands for a long time. Johnny sat down in his place and pulled on his boots, wincing slightly. He had a headache and the muscles along either side of his torso were sore but then he had been lifting and moving those heavy trunks for a couple days. 'Must be getting old,' he thought taking a swallow of coffee and studying his father's face. If he had to describe what he saw in one word, it would be 'expressionless'.

"So are we goin' to have anythin' with our coffee?" Murdoch never even blinked. It was like he was somewhere far away. "Okay then. Coffee it is." Taking another swallow he got up and walked over to the pantry. He should be able to find something. He returned a couple moments later with a jar of strawberry preserves in one hand and the basket of leftover biscuits from last night's supper in the other. He slid both on the table then crossed to the cold box and got out the butter and milk. Grabbing two plates and a glass on his way past the hutch, he slid one across the table to his place and sat the other near his father. Johnny pulled open the hutch drawer and grabbed a couple knives.

Returning to the table, he distributed the utensils, took the jar of preserves in both hands and twisted off the lid with a loud pop. The entire time he had been watching his father for some reaction but none came.

"Murdoch!" he finally shouted.

"What? What's wrong?" His father looked like he had just come out of a deep sleep.

"Nothin'. I was just wonderin' if you were still in there. I got out the leftover biscuits and a jar of strawberry jam. Not too bad a breakfast, huh?

Murdoch looked around the table as if seeing it for the first time. He took a biscuit then passed the basket to Johnny. He buttered it, added some jam and took a bite before speaking. "Fine breakfast, son. Thank you."

Obvious that something was bothering his father, Johnny knew if Murdoch wanted his help or advice he would ask for it so best to leave well enough alone. Johnny shook out his right arm and hand.

"Something wrong son?"

"I guess I must have slept funny. My arm and hand keep going kinda numb like. Helps to shake them. It's nothing. Hey you didn't happen to hear any music during the night, did ya?"

"Music? No. Where would it have come from?"

"I know that sometimes you like to listen to the music works from Catherine's little jewelry box you keep on your dresser. Didn't really sound "tinkley" like that though. More almost like someone singin' way far away. I was probably just dreamin'. Oh well, looks like back to ranch work. Barranca will sure be glad to get out for a ride today. What's on the chore list?"

"I'm . . . I don't . . .Why don't you make out today's list for a change. You know just as much as I do about what's going on around the ranch; what needs to be done. Why don't you give me a list of jobs for a change." Johnny rolled his eyes. While it was true that he probably even knew more about what went on around Lancer than Murdoch cared to admit, he had never before been asked to handle the chore list.

"O k a y," he answered, drawing out the word. "I think the first thing me and the hands should do is divvy up and take a ride around, see what kind of damage the rain caused. Check on the herds, make sure none of the cows are bogged down anywhere. We could meet back up at noon and go from there, if that's okay with you."

Murdoch nodded. He had that faraway look in his eyes again. "Sounds like a good plan. I'll ride out along the northwest quarter line. Be back at noon." Draining his coffee, he stood, put his hat on, picked up his gloves and walked toward the back door. Johnny turned his head to watch him walk away. Murdoch was limping slightly, favoring his right leg.

"Your leg botherin' you again?"

"No, no. Just a Charlie horse I think. Too much sitting around these last couple days. It will ease up. Nothing to worry about." Johnny was concerned about letting his father out of his sight acting the way he had during breakfast. He decided that it might be a good thing to ride out to the northwest quarter as well but stay out of sight, just in case.

Quickly finishing his meal so as not to get too far behind Murdoch, Johnny put his hat on his head and trotted out the back door and across to the barn. He called out to Juan Carlos who followed him. Barranca whinnied when he saw his master coming. He tossed his head up and down and poked his nose gently into Johnny's arm when he came within reach. "Hey amigo. You as anxious as I am to get back on the trail?" Johnny opened the gate to his horse's stall. Leading him out into the alley, he dropped the reins and grabbed Barranca's blanket and saddle. Although Barranca stood still so Johnny could position the saddle and tighten the cinch, he was almost trembling with excitement at the thought of going for a good run. Johnny patted his neck. "Easy there amigo. We're going, just give me a minute will yah?" Johnny rubbed Barranca's nose while he told Juan Carlos to have the hands get out the section map, divvy it up and have each man survey his section for damages and then report back at lunch time.

Johnny swung up into the saddle. He was just about to rein Barranca around to head out the door when he heard some commotion down in the far stall. He thought he'd better check it out. Swinging his right leg over the palomino's neck, he slid to the ground. Barranca swung his head around and snorted his displeasure. "We're gonna go. Just be patient. I gotta check on Mo. I'll be right back okay?" Barranca nodded his head up and down causing Johnny to chuckle.

Johnny approached the far stall slowly, quietly talking to Scott's horse named Mo. The horse recognized him and should have settled down but he acted just the opposite, snorting, tossing his head, he even tried to rear up in the limited space. Johnny grabbed his bridle to limit Mo's movement. He kept talking to him in a hushed tone and rubbed his nose. The animal quieted some but not enough for Johnny's liking. "What's the matter boy? Miss Scott? Yah, me too. He's been gone a long time. Too long for both of us huh? He'll be home soon. Three or four days at the most. I know he'll be happy to see you and take you for a nice long run in the west pasture." The horse wasn't fidgeting as much but still didn't appear as settled as Johnny would have liked. "Would you like to go out in the corral? Get some fresh air? It's muddy out there but the sun is out and I'll be back in a couple hours to get you all cleaned up and back in your stall."

Cautiously, Johnny swung open the gate. Mo acted like he wanted to bolt. Johnny patted him on the neck, kept talking to him and led him out the far door to the west corral. When he released his grip on the bridle, Mo reared up several times then seemed to settle down just slightly, trotting around the corral one way and then turning to go back the other. Johnny wasn't too sure about leaving a horse in such an agitated condition alone but suddenly Mo settled down almost completely and seemed content to slow down to a walk. He no longer swung his head from side to side and had stopped snorting. Walking over to a pile of fresh hay in the middle of the corral, he starting eating. It was like day and night. Johnny felt better leaving Mo now. He walked back to Barranca and again swung up in the saddle. "Okay big fella, now it's our turn."

Nick and the men got the herd moving early. If the weather held and the cows behaved, he figured driving them from sunup to sundown it would take about two and half days to reach the Lancer ranch. They were making good time. The men mounted up, some still chewing on jerky, and urged the cattle onward. Nick hung back about twenty yards so he could see the big picture of what was going on in front of him. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck bristled causing him to look all around. He felt like he was being watched. Nick's eyes immediately scanned the mesa thinking maybe it was Scott but he knew the mesa narrowed considerably at this point and that Scott would be forced to come down and meet up with the main trail. Perhaps he was behind the tree line or even already up in front of the herd. The feeling went away and Nick turned his full attention back to the drive.

Scott forced his eyes open against bright sunshine. His head felt like it was an overfilled balloon. His right arm totally numb, just like his leg. If he held very, very still his ribs only ached but he found if he moved at all, a stabbing pain nearly took his breath away. He was worried that he might puncture a lung. Scott turned his head to look to his right. One of the canteens laid about twenty feet downstream, the cap was nowhere to be seen and from the angle in which it had landed, Scott was sure that all the water had drained away. Turning his head to the left, he saw the other canteen about ten feet straight out from his hip. The cap was in place but he couldn't remember which one still had water in it and which had been empty. He suddenly realized that it didn't really matter. They were both well out of his reach.

Scott searched as well as he was able to find something, some kind of cloth, that he could wave to draw attention. The only thing accessible was the left side of his slicker but with only one hand he was not only unable to pull his arm out of the sleeve, but unable to tear the fabric away from the seam. Even if he could get at his knife, he still wouldn't be at the right angle to cut it. Off in the near distance, he heard lowing. It must be the Lancer cattle as it had come from the direction of the trail. He couldn't turn his head enough in either direction to see the road so he would have to rely on his hearing. He concentrated on listening. He could tell they were getting closer but still too distant for him to call for help. It seemed to be taking forever for them to approach. He could hear some of the men whistling back and forth to keep the steers in formation and keep them plodding along. If he strained, he could hear a loud deep voice shouting out every now and again. It must be Nick. He waited. Closer, closer, closer still. When it sounded as though they were right across from him. Scott took the deepest breath he could with his broken ribs and cried out.

"Help me. Help! I'm hurt. Over here." He paused but there was no response so he took another deep breath and repeated his plea. It was no use. His voice wasn't loud enough to carry across the rushing water, through the trees, and over the sounds of bellowing cows and whistling hands. His side throbbed in pain. His mouth was dry. His throat raw from a combination of shouting and not having anything to drink in almost ten hours. He exhaled and felt his body slump back against the ground. "Johnny, Murdoch, please come help me. Please come take me home." he whispered, closing his eyes against the sun.

Nick couldn't shake the feeling that there was something out there. Maybe an animal prowling around. Something. He watched the horses and scanned the herd. Animals could sense danger better than men but they all looked normal and, in fact, quite calm. They were enjoying their leisurely pace. He scanned the mesa again. Between the trees he could see where a good part of the cliff side had given way and lay in an immense pile of rocks and boulders below. It must have been the heavy rains, he reasoned. Something caught his eye and he looked up at the sky above the slide. Two vultures flew in lazy circles almost directly above where the mesa had given way. The slide might have taken an animal with it. This was mountain lion country and the weight of a big cat like that could actually have caused the ground to give way. Nick was almost jealous thinking the nasty birds would have a meal of fresh meat while his men had to contend with jerky and tinned beans. As the road here was exposed to full sun for quite a distance and had dried out pretty quickly, Nick whistled to the lead hands to pick up the pace. They could make up for some lost time.

Scott could hear the drove getting farther and farther away until he couldn't hear them any more at all. He tried one more time to pull his right arm free but it was no use. The weight of the rocks and the larger boulder had acted to push Scott's arm into the rain soaked ground. There was just no leverage. Scott tried to reach across his body with his left hand in an attempt to push away some of the smaller rocks but moving his arm at the necessary angle only increased the pressure on his ribs and made it difficult for him to breath. Letting his left arm drop back to his side, he winced as the muscles tugged at his chest. Looking up, he watched the vultures circling. There were four in all. He knew they were just waiting for him to die so they could feast on his flesh. Scott wasn't used to feeling helpless but he just couldn't see any way for him to get out this jam. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. His body felt like it was floating and Scott soon fell back to sleep.

CHAPTER 6

"Well my friend, it looks like you've gotten yourself into quite a predicament." Scott thought he was dreaming, rolling his head to one side. "Mister? Mister I've come to help you." Scott heard that voice again. It sounded like a young man's voice but he knew it wasn't Johnny's. He struggled to place it. Someone was shaking his left shoulder. He wished they would stop. It made his broken ribs rub against each other and hurt like hell.

"Come on, friend. Wake up. I need to get you out of here before it gets dark." There was that voice again. Scott told himself he would have to open his eyes in order to see who it belonged to and so he forced the lids upward, squinting against the sunlight. It took him a minute to focus. "Well, now that's better." A young man – boy actually – was standing bent over him supporting his weight on his hands which rested just above his knees. "My name is Emmitt. Emmitt Parsons. I'm going to help you." Scott's optimism diminished quickly. Emmitt couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Tall and lanky, he looked as though he didn't have enough muscles to tote a sack of grain much less lift a massive boulder off a man's leg. Well maybe he could at least get some water and go get someone else to come and free him. "What's your name?"

"Scott . . . Scott Lancer. Please, water!"

"Oh gosh, I should have known better." Emmitt walked over and picked up one of the canteens. He rinsed it out good and then took a few steps upstream to fill it with clean water. Kneeling at Scott's side, the boy held the canteen to his lips. Scott lifted his head and took several swallows. He wanted more but the boy pulled the canteen away and replaced the cap. "Not too much. It could make you sick to your stomach and if you were to throw up laying on your back like you are you could choke." Emmitt stood, set the canteen down intentionally out of Scott's reach and placed his hands on his almost nonexistent hips. He seemed to be studying the land slide, deciding what he should do.

"Go for help. You have to go for help." Emmitt swung his head around and looked down at Scott.

"What for? I can get you out." Scott took the boy's confidence as arrogance; at not wanting to admit he might not be able to free Scott by himself. He was, after all, at the age where kids – especially boys – thought they knew everything.

"How . . ." Scott asked. "You can't possibly move those boulders. I doubt that two men would have the strength . . ." Scott abruptly stopped in midsentence when he saw the look on the Emmitt's face.

"You'd be surprised what a body can do when it has to. The only real strength a person needs is right up here." he answered, pointing to his temple with an index finger then winking at Scott. His wink reminded Scott of his little brother. How desperately he wished Johnny were here now. "I'm going to free your arm first."

Emmitt went to the creek and took off his jacket, spreading it out flat on the ground. Walking a few steps into the water, he bent over and scooped up mud with both hands, tossing it on the jacket. When he had a large pile, he pulled the jacket back over to Scott's side. Kneeling down, he began packing the mud into all the cracks and crevices left by the smaller rocks. Emmitt made sure to pack it as tightly as he could. He made a couple more trips to the creek and back until all the rocks except for the larger boulder on the top were covered with packed soil.

"Your arm isn't broken, neither is your wrist. I saw you wiggle your fingers a few times while I was packing so I know your hand and fingers aren't broken either. I just want you to hold your arm and hand as still as possible. It would be better if you turned your head away. When you see the larger stone taken off, it would be too tempting to try and move and that might do you more harm than good. I'll tell you when it's okay. You must trust me and do exactly what I say. Do you understand?"

Scott was surprised at the boy's knowledge and the authoritative tone in his voice. It reminded him a little bit of his father. "I want you to turn your head away now and focus on that scrub pine right over there. Pretend your arm is gone; there is nothing there to move. And it never hurts to say a little prayer."

Scott did as he was told. Somehow a peaceful feeling of complete faith in his rescuer washed over him. He focused on the pine, imagined in his mind that there was nothing from his shoulder down, and silently said a little prayer. A few minutes passed. He hadn't felt a thing. He reasoned that Emmitt had failed.

"Okay, now lift your arm straight up." Scott snapped his head around. The boulder, rocks and mud were gone. He saw the entire length of his arm just lying flat and straight in its own impression in the soft ground. Scott glanced up into Emmitt's face. The boy simply smiled. "Go ahead. Lift it straight up. It won't hurt." Scott stared at his arm as he slowly drew it up out of the rain softened earth. He glanced back and forth between his arm and the boy's face. Emmitt just kept on smiling.

When his arm was about six inches clear of the ground, Emmitt told him to slowly bend his elbow. Scott bent his elbow. There was no pain. Then Emmitt told him to flex his wrist and fingers. Scott did as he was told. The numbness seemed to drain out his fingertips and the feeling came back just as though it had never left. Scott smiled. He clenched his fingers into and out of a fist several times then gently bent and straightened his elbow a couple more times. His arm felt fine. An expression of astonishment came across Scott's entire face as he looked up into Emmitt's eyes. Then his mind began to reason. Okay, so the release of his arm had gone well. The rocks – even the top stone – hadn't really been that large. Scott was sure with concentrated effort Emmitt could have rolled it off. But what about his leg? The boulder pinning it down must weigh several hundred pounds. Scott began to lose faith again.

"Now let's get that big rock off your leg." Emmitt spoke with such optimism. Scott watched the boy walk around to study the situation from all sides. At first Emmitt's eyes were narrowed but Scott saw them slowly relax as a grin drew across the boy's lips. "Okay, I want you to do the same thing as before except this time you need to close your eyes because from the angle of your head you will still be able to see a part of the boulder from the corner of your eye and you might be tempted to move before it's time. I'm going around behind to get better leverage. Are you going to do as I say?"

"Yes, yes I'll do what you tell me."

"Good. Now turn your head to your left as far as you can without pulling on those broken ribs. Put your left arm out straight from the shoulder and fold your right arm across your waist and grip your belt loop with your fingers to keep it there. Pretend everything from your right hip down is gone. Move your left leg out to the side as far as you can. Now don't move anything, understand?"

"Yes, yes I'm ready."

"Okay, now close your eyes tight, lay perfectly still until I tell you you can move and say a little prayer. Here we go." Scott pretended his body was frozen stiff. He was gripping his belt loop so tightly with the fingers of his right hand they were beginning to cramp. He offered up a silent prayer and included a request this time to send his father to his side. Minutes went by. Scott heard nothing. He actually wondered if Emmitt had walked away in failure. Five minutes passed. Scott was just about to break his promise and open his eyes to check for the boy when Emmitt spoke.

"You can open your eyes and turn your head now but don't move that leg. It's broken and the bone is through the skin. Any movement before I fix it will only make it worse." Scott couldn't believe his ears. He opened his eyes and turned his head. "Oh, you can put your right arm back down now if you want." Scott laid his arm out straight. He raised his head just enough to see over his belt. The large boulder and all the smaller stones and rocks were gone. His leg and foot lay perfectly straight. He looked up into Emmitt's face in disbelief. How could it be possible? And so quickly and painlessly?

"You did it!" Scott muttered lying his head back down. "I can't believe . . ."

"Have a little faith Scott." Emmitt said looking down into Scott's eyes. "Miracles happen every day. People just have to stop keeping themselves busy long enough to notice."

"You said it's broken. My leg. That the bone is poking through the skin but I don't have any pain."

"No, you probably don't. The boulder was pressing on the nerves and the message didn't get from your leg to your brain. Once the circulation gets back to normal it may hurt you some but actual pain? Nope." Emmitt turned to look across the clearing. "I am going to get some pieces of wood to use as a splint. I will not leave you Scott. I will be right back. Just remember, don't move that leg." Emmitt trotted off across the creek and Scott heard the boy's soft footfalls running across the ground on the other side.

Scott lifted his head to look down at his leg again. It all seemed so surreal. He murmured a quiet thank you to his God. Scott bent his left arm up behind his head. He closed his eyes and saw both his father and his brother smiling.

Emmitt was back in mere minutes. He carried six tree limbs of varying circumference. Four about three or so feet long and the other two much longer, maybe as much as seven feet. He dropped the pieces down near the side of the creek then picked up two of the shorter pieces. As he passed Scott's head, he pulled a smaller piece of wood out of his pocket and handed it to him. He laid a limb down on either side of Scott's broken leg then walked over to his horse and rummaged through his saddlebags. He came back with several lengths of narrow leather strapping in his hand.

"You don't happen to have a pocket knife do you? I must have left mine behind." Scott carefully reached into his right pants pocket and pulled out the knife and his watch. Scott dropped both into Emmitt's open palm. The boy slid the watch into his shirt pocket and opened the blade of the knife. Emmitt knelt just behind Scott's right sole. "I'm going to pull your boot off. I'll go slow. The broken bone is sticking out pointing down toward your foot so it won't be too bad." Scott felt the boy's hands on either side of his ankle. There was a slight tug on his foot but other than that the boot slid right off. Emmitt set it off to the side. He threaded four pieces of leather lacing under Scott's leg where there was a natural gap between the ground and the flesh such as at the ankle and the knee. He then carefully slid one lacing from beneath Scott's knee down about four inches and slid one of the lacings under Scott's ankle up about five inches. Emmitt brought his knee forward until the bottom of Scott's foot was at a ninety degree angle and firmly braced against the boy's thigh. Emmitt positionedthe pieces of wood atop the lacings and closer to each side of Scott's leg.

"Sorry Scott, but I'm going to have to cut your pant leg open so I can see the break better. I'll try to cut up the inside seam. Shouldn't be too much a problem to mend." Scott heard the cloth tearing as Emmitt slid the knife up from his ankle to just above his knee. "Now, I'm going to put the bone back into place. It might be a little challenging because it's broken so badly. I want you to use that stick I gave you so as you don't accidentally bite your tongue. You've had an injury to this leg before, haven't you?" Scott nodded.

"I was shot."

"Healed up good though didn't it?"

Scott nodded again. "Yah, pretty good. Gets a little stiff in cold weather." Scott began to sweat, his face visibly paling. He could only imagine, from seeing other folks' bones being set, what kind of pain he was going to experience. Hopefully it would be enough to knock him out.

Emmitt rubbed his hands together while studying Scott's leg. "It's aligned near perfect. Nice and straight. Your foot is fine. Now I want you to relax your leg and foot as much as possible. Just let them go limp. Pretend your leg and foot are gone. Good. Can you relax them just a little more. Concentrate on them buzzards circling up there. Watch them dip and sway and glide on the wind. Put the piece of wood in your mouth as far back on your teeth as you can. Now clamp down on it with your molars and make sure your tongue is underneath it. Don't lock your jaw too tightly. Just close your teeth together enough so that you have a firm hold."

Scott put the stick in his mouth, ensuring he had it positioned correctly. He looked up at the vultures, which now numbered six. Their flight seemed so effortless, so weightless. Beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip and others slid off his forehead into his hair. He tried not to think about what was coming.

"Scott, I want you to relax. You're tensing up again. Don't anticipate the pain. It will either come or it won't. If you think it will be unbearable it will be. If you think it won't be so bad it won't be. It's your choice." Emmitt folded the fabric of the pant leg back then grasped Scott's right ankle firmly in one hand and placed his other lightly over the end of the bone sticking out of Scott's shin. "I'm not going to tell you when I'm going to do it. Say a little prayer because it might happen . . . at any time." Just as Emmitt said the word 'happen', be pulled down on Scott's ankle and pushed the end of the bone upward and inward until he heard it snap back into place. "Stay completely still until I get the splints in place."

Scott could feel Emmitt maneuvering the pieces of wood against his leg and pulling the strips of lacing up tight to secure them in place. The scream he anticipated never came, only a low groan and it was over before he knew it. Scott removed the piece of wood from his mouth and moved his jaw back and forth a little to loosen it. Lifting his head he found his leg securely tied to the wooden splints in four places. There was some dried blood where the skin had been broken but very little swelling and almost no pain just a deep ache, and even that wasn't very bad.

Emmitt stood, wiped the palms of his hands one against the other and surveyed his work. The leg was perfectly straight. He walked up to Scott's head, knelt down and reached over to pick up the canteen. Unscrewing the cap, Scott anxiously grabbed it with both hands and brought it to his lips. "Now remember, not too much. We still have those ribs to worry about." Scott took a couple swallows and begrudgingly handed the canteen back to the boy. Emmitt put the cap back on but this time left it within Scott's reach. The boy crawled sideways until he was just about even with Scott's belly button. Scott moved his right arm out of his way.

Emmitt unbuttoned Scott's shirt, tugged it out of the waistband of his pants and opened it to the sides. The boy then placed his hands gently just beneath Scott's armpits and pushed in just a bit, closely watching Scott's face. Moving his hands down an inch at a time, he continued compressing Scott's ribs. Scott winced several times. "You have two broken ribs on the left side and three on the right. The broken ones on the left are higher than those on the right so at least they aren't broken straight across. I will have to bind them quite tightly to keep them immobile. It might feel like it's hard to breath but it really won't be as long as you breath nice and relaxed and don't take any really deep breaths or inhale too quickly."

Scott brows knit together. "You're way too young to be a physician. How do you know so much about broken bones and such?"

Emmitt smiled. "I learned from my father, the doctor. I started helping with patients when I was eight years old."

"You should go to medical school. You'd be a natural."

"Oh I think the good Lord has other plans for me. I'm just glad I happened along and was able to help you. I've got some torn sheeting in my saddlebags. It will make good binding. I'll be right back." Scott watched the boy run to his horse, pull out what appeared to be yards and yards of white cotton strips and trot back to his side. "Now I'm going to need you to sit up while I do this. It will hurt but if you keep as still and relaxed as possible it won't be too bad." Emmitt laid the strips of binding on the ground near Scott's waist. He then straddled Scott's hips. "I need to unbuckle your gun belt and your regular belt and open the waistband of your pants. It will make it easier for you to sit up." Scott nodded his permission.

Once the encumbrances had been either removed or loosened, Emmitt looked directly into Scott's eyes. "I want you to keep your focus on my eyes at all times. Don't look away. I am going to wrap my forearms around yours in order to pull you up. I don't want you to use your stomach muscles at all. I want you to take as deep a breath as you can and hold it until I tell you to exhale. Once you're sitting upright, I want you to lock your hands around my back right underneath my armpits. Just remember to keep your eyes on mine. Understand?" Scott nodded. "And remember, it never hurts to say a little prayer."

Scott looked directly into the boy's dark brown eyes as Emmitt entwined his arms around his. Scott took as deep a breath as he could and held it. He seemed to almost float up into a sitting position with hardly any discomfort at all. "Okay, keep your eyes on mine. Exhale very slowly and bring your arms around me and clasp them behind my back." Scott followed Emmitt's instructions to a tee. Emmitt picked up a strip of binding and, his eyes locked on Scott's, began winding it tightly around Scott's chest. Never taking his eyes away, he picked up the next strip and then the next until Scott was bound tightly from just beneath his arms to just above his waist. "Any pain?"

"No, just sore." He muttered, looking down at the binding. Immediately he felt a stabbing pain in his right side.

"You took your eyes off mine Scott. I told you not to do that." Scott returned his gaze to that of the boy's and the pain immediately went away. "Now when I say I want you to hold your breath, don't inhale or exhale, just hold the breath already in your lungs. Unclasp your hands and let me intertwine my arms around yours again. Keep holding your breath and keep looking directly into my eyes. I am going to lay you down but first I am going to pull your slicker as much out from behind and under you as I can. Understand?" Scott nodded . Emmitt reached down and pulled the garment to the left side. "Okay. Keep looking in my eyes, hold your breath and release your hands." Emmitt immediately wrapped his forearms around Scott's and slowly lowered him to the ground. "Just relax and breath as normally as possible." Emmitt stood and stepped off to Scott's left. He pulled at the slicker and it slid out from under Scott's body effortlessly.

"Now what?" Scott asked. It was nearly sundown and he didn't look forward to another night sleeping on the damp ground even if Emmitt was with him.

"I'm just passing through this area. I was born in a little town called Chowchilla. You've probably never heard of it. Most folks haven't. Anyway, I've been staying in a cave not too far from here. I know that probably sounds strange but it's free. It's dry. There's good hunting and clean water nearby. It's plenty big and I'm more than happy to share. I know you're anxious to get home but the San Joaquin Valley is too far for you to ride in your present condition. Besides you don't have a horse."

"How did you know I lived in the San Joaquin?" Scott narrowed his eyes, growing slightly suspicious of this boy that seemed to appear out of nowhere and just when he needed him the most.

"You said your name was Lancer. Everyone's heard of the Lancer spread in the San Joaquin. Biggest ranch in the state. Your father is Murdoch Lancer. Am I right?"

"Yah, yah Murdoch Lancer. That's right." Scott muttered, watching Emmitt closely. The boy was using the left over strapping to fasten together the longer pieces of wood with the two leftover shorter pieces to make a rectangular frame. "What are doing?" Emmitt grabbed the rain slicker.

"You've ridden on a travois before." Emmitt took the slicker and spread it out in the middle of the framework. He took some narrow strips of leather out of his back pocket and tied the slicker on all four sides. "That should work well. Real well. Now all I have to do is get you on it and we're off." Emmitt pushed the travois up tight against the entire left side of Scott's body. He took a few more pieces of lacing and tied Scott's broken leg to his good leg in three places. Emmitt bent down and refastened the waistband of Scott's pants, removed part of Scott's belt, and rethreaded it through the loops skipping two on the left side. Stepping over Scott, he bent down and slid the gun belt free. The boy put his hands on his hips and studied the situation in detail. He needed one more leather strap. Suddenly his face brightened and he snapped his fingers. Emmitt trotted over to his horse, unbuckled the cinch and lifted the saddle to the ground, rolling it over to unbuckle the other end of the cinch. Hurrying back to Scott, he held it up proudly and smiled.

"What's that for?" Scott wondered, secretly fascinated by what the boy was doing.

"You'll see." Emmitt knelt down behind Scott's head and slid the strap beneath Scott's shoulders to just under his armpits. Standing and taking off his own belt, the boy buckled the ends of it to the appropriate ends of the cinch. He tested it pulling Scott slightly off the ground. Perfect. Scott, who always thought of himself as an analytical thinker struggled to make sense of the whole thing.

"Here's what we're going to do." Emmitt dropped to his knees on the opposite side of the travois. "I'm going to move your upper body onto the travois first. You'll be laying diagonally for a minute or two but no longer. Then I'm going to bring your legs over and lay them straight. I don't want that bone to come out of place. Once your lower body is on board, I'll slide your shoulders over until your body is all lined up straight again. I will tell you what to do as we go along."

Emmitt stood and made sure the travois was up tightly against Scott's left side. Moving up to the top half of the frame, Emmitt tucked the toes of his boots under the far piece of wood. He grabbed the strap he had fashioned under Scott's underarms first and then the free section of Scott's belt. "All right, can you grab hold of the frame between my two feet with your left arm?" Scott reached across and got a good grip. "Good. I'm going to count to three. On three I am going to pull you over using these two straps. If you can help by pulling yourself with your arm, great. If not that's okay too. Try not to bend at the waist. Pretend you're lying on a wide plank and you're strapped down tight and have to move as a whole. Understand?" Scott nodded and tightened his grip on the frame. "And remember, it never hurts to say a little prayer."

Emmitt planted his feet firmly, digging his heels into the ground so the frame wouldn't slide. He bent his knees slightly and grabbed both straps tightly. "One, two, three." He said, leaning what little weight he had backward for leverage. Scott pulled with his arm and slid right onto the travois as slickly as if it had been greased with lard. Emmitt smiled, dropped the straps, walked down to Scott's feet and lifted his legs at the ankles just enough to clear the frame bringing them onto the bottom of the travois. Returning to Scott's shoulders, he stood on the right side of the frame, grabbed the straps and pulled his torso until it lined up with his hips. Scott never felt the least bit of pain or discomfort during the whole maneuver. He was making mental notes of the boy's method just in case he ever needed to help someone in a like situation. Looking up Scott grinned. Emmitt wasn't even breathing hard. He acted like he did this type of thing every day.

Releasing the makeshift strap from around Scott's upper body, he laced his belt back through the loops of his dungarees. Walking back to his horse, he re-buckled the cinch to the saddle and re-saddled his mount. Emmitt clicked his tongue and the horse followed him until he stopped at Scott's side. Scott chuckled. It reminded him of Johnny and Barranca. Emmitt picked up Scott's gun belt and laid it on the travois near his right hand then picked up Scott's right boot and laid it between the splint and the frame. Pulling the bedroll off his horse, he flipped open the blanket and tucked it around Scott's body from his shoulders to just below his knees. Emmitt grabbed both canteens, poured out the stale water and refilled them from the creek. He laid one down next to Scott's left hand and hooked the other one over the horn of his saddle before tying off Scott's saddlebags.

Scott wondered just how the boy planned to affix the travois to his horse, but was confident Emmitt would figure out something. Emmitt grabbed the coil of rope from the side of his saddle and tied one end to the top of the frame at the junction where the two pieces of wood met. He looped the other end around the saddle horn. Holding the excess length in his hand, he clicked his tongue and walked backward, his horse following him and pulling the travois to Scott's left until it had turned ninety degrees. The horse stopped, Emmitt untied the rope from the saddle and came over to kneel above Scott's head. He couldn't see what the boy was doing.

"You're wondering what I'm doing. Well, I'm finding the center of the length of rope. Okay. Now I'm going to hold the center of the rope to the center of the crosspiece of the travois and wind the ends of the rope around and out to the vertical pieces several times." Completing that, he stood. He whistled to his horse who calmly walked over and stood facing away from but directly behind the travois. "I'm going to run the ropes along each side of my horse and tie them onto the saddle horn. I'm only going to raise the top of the travois about a foot and leave plenty of length on the rope so you will follow well away from my horse's rump. I know that's not typical but it will work much better. You will have a comfortable ride. This I know."

Scott had no reason to doubt after all the boy had already done for him. He felt the top of the travois lifting off the ground and then stopping. Scott noticed that his legs didn't need to bear the weight of his upper body like in a regular travois and that his torso remained straight rather than dipping at the hips so there was no pressure on his ribs. This kid was amazing. He promised himself he would introduce him to Johnny. His little brother would be totally captivated by the boy's techniques and perhaps Emmitt would be able to share some of his knowledge with the entire Lancer family.

The drovers made camp that night, glad for dry weather. If the pace could be kept, they would make Lancer by midafternoon the day after tomorrow. All the men were looking forward to a good meal and a real bed before they would have to start back to Stockton. Nick had been restless and irritable all day. He felt like he had forgotten something somewhere along the way but inventorying his gear and asking the other hands if they were missing anything everyone said no. As they were past the mesa he knew that Scott would have had to descend into the low land and assumed he would make his way to the trail. He must have gotten ahead of them. 'Probably already back at the ranch'. Nick thought. 'Road ahead to get things ready for the herd.' He spent the vast majority of the day trying to convince himself that he was right.

CHAPTER 7

Emmitt and Scott arrived at the mouth of the cave within a short time. Scott lifted his head to look inside the arched opening but it was too dark to see more than a couple feet or so. "Well, we're home sweet home friend." Emmitt walked back and looked down into Scott's face. "You doing okay? No pain?"

"I'm alright. It was a real smooth ride. I hurt some but no real pain. The way you rigged that travois really took the pressure off my legs and my ribs. I'll have to remember how you did that in case I ever need to help someone."

"You'll remember when you need to. I'm going to go inside and get a fire started and light some lanterns. Shouldn't take more than a couple minutes. I'll be right back out to get you. You just lie quiet." Scott turned his head to watch Emmitt disappeared into the dark recess of the cave. Less than a minute later, he saw the glowing light of a lantern and seconds later, the inside of the cave glowed a bright yellow-orange from the growing fire, much like the inside of a Jack o' lantern when the candle had just been lit. Emmitt came back out to Scott's side with a wide grin on his face. "It'll warm up quickly now that the fire's going good. As soon as I get you settled, I'll make us some supper." Emmitt walked up to his horse's head, grabbed the bridle and gently turned the horse toward the mouth of the cave. He led him in quite a ways until Scott was clear of the fire but still within the circle of its light and warmth. Emmitt untied the travois and carefully lowered it to the earthen floor.

Scott glanced around. There were two lanterns, one on each side sitting on empty upturned crates. There were a couple old chairs and a rather dilapidated small round table. A narrow folding cot paralleled the east wall. A deep kettle, cast iron frying pan, granite coffee pot and a few utensils were stacked neatly near where the fire burned. A couple traps and a wire cage sat just inside the entrance.

Emmitt unsaddled the horse, shook out his animal's blanket and placed them both astride a stout piece of wood supported on each end by small wooden barrels. Emmitt talked to his horse in a soft, calming voice as he led him further into the cave. Scott thought of how Johnny spoke to Barranca in the same manner. It made him smile.

Scott heard Emmitt walking back from the deeper recesses of the cave. "I made a little stable for Titus in a smaller chamber deeper in the cave. He likes it. You're comfortable on that travois, right?"

"Quite comfortable."

"Good, then I'm going to leave you on it. Your slicker will protect you from any dampness coming up through the floor." Emmitt knelt down on Scott's left side holding a shirt in his hand. "I have an extra flannel shirt. We're going to put this on you so your arms will stay warm. I'll wash out your other shirt tomorrow so it will be clean when you're ready to leave." Emmitt stood and stepped across Scott's hips with his left foot so he was straddling him. "You remember how we sat you up before?"

"I think so."

"Well, we're going to do it the exact same way so I can get this shirt around your back." Emmitt dropped to his knees with one knee on either side of Scott's narrow hips. "Look in my eyes, hold your breath, lock arms with me and don't tighten your stomach muscles."

"Should I say a prayer again?" Scott immediately regretted the sarcastic note in his voice, feeling quite ashamed seeing the expression that placed itself across the boy's features.

"Might help, never hurts." Emmitt replied, dismissing the incident and getting back to what he was doing. Going through the outlined motions, Scott soon had the shirt on and was being slowly lowered back down. "You button that and don't worry about tucking it in, I'm not that particular. I'll be right back." Emmitt rose and walked off somewhere behind Scott. Returning a brief moment later, the boy knelt down on one knee near Scott's head, slid his hand beneath it, lifted it just slightly, and lowered it back down. "It's not a real pillow, but I think it will do." Whatever Emmitt had placed under his head was soft and yet supportive. It helped take the strain off Scott's neck. The boy shook out the blanket and dropped it down over Scott's legs and lower torso. "Warm enough?"

"Yes, thank you. That fire really heats up the place. It's very cozy but . . ." Scott drew his eyebrows together. "I don't understand. I mean a fire that size should have filled this cave with smoke by now and yet I don't see or smell any."

Emmitt smiled. "Gotta know where and how to build it so the smoke goes out rather than stays in. An old Indian trick. I know you're hungry. There's good hunting around here. I'm going to go check my traps before it's pitch black out there. Shouldn't take long." The boy picked up one of the lanterns and left.

Scott couldn't believe his good fortune. Just a couple hours past he had lain out in the open, trapped by a land slide that might easily have killed him, suffering from a concussion which might have done the same, no water, no gun, no knife, no food, no shelter from the sun during the day or the chill of the night, no reasonable chance of being found. Vultures already circling. No horse. Scott had made his peace with dying, just like he had done during the war, because without water and without help he knew he would only last two or three days at the most unless a mountain lion or a rattler got him first.

Now here he was in a warm, dry cave, arm fully freed and useful, leg set and beginning to mend, ribs wrapped to prevent a punctured lung, relatively no pain, water to drink and food on its way; not to mention the care and companionship of a very special young man. He reasoned that the herd would arrive at Lancer sometime the day after tomorrow and, realizing he was missing, his father and his little brother would set out looking for him and take him home where he could heal in his own bed and be tended to by the two people he loved and cared about more than anyone else in the whole world.

Emmitt came back not more than five minutes later carrying two dead wild rabbits. He dropped them on the small table and picked up a knife. He began skinning and gutting the animals. "I hope you like rabbit meat. I'm going to roast these fellas and they should taste as good as fresh chicken cooked over an open fire. I don't have anything to go with them though."

"Look in my saddle bags. There should be some biscuits wrapped up in a napkin." Emmitt dipped his hands in a bucket of water and dried them on a clean rag. He handed the saddle bags to Scott.

"Here. I don't go through another man's things." Scott flipped the cover back and pulled out a checkered cloth. He handed the bundle to Emmitt and smiled. He watched as the young man dunked the carcasses in the water and let them soak a few minutes. He took another clean rag, wrung it out in a different bucket of water and scrubbed off the table and wiped down the knife. Emmitt grabbed two thin metal rods from the utensils and skewered one rabbit onto each. He went over and sat just shy of the fire and held them over the flames, turning them every couple minutes. Soon the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Scott's stomach growled.

When the rabbits were done, Emmitt stood and laid two plates on the table. Using a large fork, he slid the rabbits off the metal rods, laid a biscuit on each plate and handed one to Scott. "Can you manage or do you want help?"

Scott placed the plate on his stomach. "I think I can do it. I didn't realize just how hungry I was until I smelled the meat. Looks really good." He tore a piece of flesh off the seared and browned rabbit and took a bite.

"I take it you're not a grace saying man."

"Oh, sorry, actually my family says grace every night before supper. Would you mind?"

"Lord, thanks for this food, clean water, a warm dry place to lay our heads and bringing me to Scott when he most needed me. Amen." Scott quietly echoed the amen.

The rabbit was delicious and Scott made quick work out of finishing his meal. He reached down, opened the canteen and took several swallows. Emmitt tossed Scott a damp rag on which to wipe his fingers. "That was great, Emmitt. Thanks." The boy just smiled. Picking up the plates, he tossed the waste into the bucket with the bloody water, carried it to the entrance of the cave, walked off to the side and tossed the contents down the hill.

"I'll get clean water tomorrow and wash the dishes. I'll also heat some and help you clean up. You're a little trail worn."

Scott chuckled. "I think I'm more than a little trail worn. I'm downright grungy!"

"Well that will all be taken care of in the morning. Cleaning up will make you feel better too. What you need now is a good night's sleep. Don't be afraid to call out if you need anything." Emmitt blew out the two lanterns before crossing to the cot, shucking off his shoes, laying down and pulling a blanket over his shoulder. "Remember to say your prayers," He called out. Except for the crackle of burning wood the cave was incredibly quiet and Scott fell asleep easily.

When the men met back at the main house at noon, Murdoch went inside to prepare the meal while Johnny listened to each man's report promising to make chore assignments as soon as everyone had eaten. All in all the ranch had faired pretty well. Several posts had washed away on a small section of the east line fence; there was standing water in a couple pastures but none where the herds were currently grazing; the roof had leaked quite badly on the west line shack and Johnny had noticed some leaks in the main barn's roof as well. A steaming bowl of soup and some thick slices of bread with butter awaited Johnny as he entered through the back door. Murdoch was just pouring each of them a large glass of milk.

Johnny made his report to his father while they ate. As the ground was still pretty drenched in most areas, he reasoned it wouldn't pay to start replacing and repairing the fence. There was nothing they could do about the standing water but let it dry out naturally. He would have a couple hands load up a wagon with materials to repair the line shack roof and, at the same time, pull enough extra and haul it over to the main barn. Johnny said that come tomorrow morning he and couple men would start those repairs. Johnny hoped his father had been listening as he really didn't want to explain everything twice but Murdoch's eyes had taken on that faraway look again. "Pa, does that all sound okay to you?"

Murdoch startled. "Yah, yah, fine. I trust your judgment. You make sure and tie off when you're up on that barn roof tomorrow. The last thing I need is another son laid up."

Another son? Johnny wondered. Shrugging his shoulders, he assumed his father had simply misspoken. "How's your leg?"

"Damnedest thing! The pain went away just like that," he answered snapping his fingers. "You feeling any better?"

Johnny swallowed his mouthful of bread and took a sip of milk. "My arm's been fine all morning. I don't know what's going on around my middle. There's no pain or nothing. Kinda sore when I move but it feels like something's all wound around me. I've been tugging at my shirt thinkin' maybe I tucked it in catawampus but it didn't help. Like I said, muscles. Those big trunks are heavy!"

"One thing I want to make sure is taken care of right away tomorrow is the grazing land for the new herd coming in. I want the bulls separated from the others so I want the fences checked to ensure they are absolutely fail proof. The drovers should be coming in late tomorrow or the next day."

"I'll send four hands out first thing in the morning. Boy, it sure will be good to have Scott home again." Johnny replied.

"Mmm," Murdoch mumbled.

"Hey Pa?" Johnny asked, standing and resting his hands on the back of his chair. "Do we have any rabbit in the ice house?

"I don't know son. Why?"

"I've just got this hankerin' for rabbit."

"Well you boys sure had a good hunt. There probably is a little left. Why don't you check and if you find some bring it back to the house and I'll fix it for supper." Johnny trotted to the ice house and scrounged around, moving sides of beef and small packages of chicken out of the way until, way at the bottom of the bin he found two bundles of rabbit. He trotted back to the house holding one in each hand and put them in the cold box. He quickly scribbled a note to let Murdoch know then went back out and over to the bunkhouse to pass out assignments.

Johnny went upstairs before Murdoch. He still had a few letters he hadn't read and wanted to finish them and return them to the trunk. Just as he was padding down the attic steps in his socks, he saw his father entering Scott's room and closing the door. It seemed odd, what with Murdoch's rule about not going into each other's bedroom without expressed permission. He crept down the hall, stood with his hand on the doorknob to his own room right across the hall from his brother's and cocked his ear in the direction of Scott's door but heard nothing. There was no light showing from under the door either. Tempted to knock and find out what was going on, he decided against it, entered his room, got undressed, crawled in bed and pulled the handful of letters out from beneath his pillow. Finishing the last one, he refolded it, slipped it back into its envelope, extinguished the lamp and, within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Murdoch felt slightly uncomfortable invading his son's privacy but there was just something drawing him into Scott's room. He stood in the dark, the only illumination coming from the nearly full moon shining in through the window. Looking around, he found the room exceptionally neat with everything in its place just as he would have expected from his eldest son. He bent slightly to run his hand over the patchwork quilt covering the bed. Picked up the book from Scott's bedside table and turned it to the light to read the title imprinted in gold lettering down the spine. Putting it down, he crossed to the chair in the corner and sat down. He had the need to feel close to his oldest son at that moment and this was the only way he could think of to do it.

Johnny suddenly sat up from a sound sleep and grabbed his side. A sharp pain radiated across his ribs for a minute and then disappeared as quickly as it had come. As long as he was awake, he decided to take a trip down the hall to the water closet. He had drunk a lot of coffee with supper. Feeling much better, he padded back toward his room. He stopped at Scott's door wondering if his father was still in his brother's bedroom. Johnny took the knob in his hand and turned it slowly. He pushed the door open just enough to stick his head in and look around. He didn't have to look far. Murdoch sat in Scott's chair, moonlight falling across his chest, head hung and snoring softly. Johnny tiptoed into the room, pulled the quilt off Scott's bed and draped it over his father. It was funny, except for a chill breeze coming in through the open window, tonight the room seemed exceptionally warm almost as if a good sized fire was burning in the hearth but the fireplace was dark. Johnny closed the door quietly, wincing slightly as the latch clicked into the plate. Padding back to his own room, he climbed back under the covers and immediately fell back to sleep.

CHAPTER 8

Sometime during the wee hours before dawn, Scott rolled over in his sleep. An intense stabbing pain radiated in his side and across his chest. He bit his lip to keep from crying out and waking Emmitt. Easing himself back down as slowly as possible, he slowed his breathing and the pain eventually subsided. He was beginning to feel an uncomfortable fullness in his bladder but really had no way to solve that problem right now and hoped that falling back to sleep would take care of his dilemma at least for a little while.

Scott woke late into the morning. Looking around, he saw that Emmitt had already washed out his shirt, along with a couple other items, and had hung them over the backs of the chairs to dry. The dishes had been washed and put away and a new supply of firewood was stacked just inside the entrance. He could hear Emmitt's horse blowing softly somewhere behind him so reasoned that the boy had to be somewhere nearby. Scott lifted up the canteen and took a drink. The water was cold which meant that Emmitt had already refilled it. He tried to sit up but as he pushed himself up on his elbows, he tensed the muscles of his stomach and an immediate pain shot through his side. "I told you not to use those muscles." Scott looked up to see Emmitt standing in the entrance. The boy walked over to the side of the travois, put his hands on his hips, looked directly into Scott's eyes and sighed. Scott immediately lay back down.

"I'm getting tired of lying flat. I just thought I would sit up a little while."

"Why don't I get you washed up first then I'll help you."

"Well, actually I have a more pressing need right now than grooming. I really have to . . . I mean nature. . . I mean – oh hell, I gotta pee so bad!"

Emmitt chuckled. "I should have thought of that. Let me get you something. Do you want help or . . ."

"No, no help. I mean thank you but I think I can manage."

"I'm going to get a couple buckets of water; give you some privacy. You're sure . . ."

"I'm sure." Scott groaned, gritting his teeth.

Emptying his bladder had never felt so good. Taking care not to spill on the blanket, Scott sat the container as far away as possible and felt slightly embarrassed that the boy would have to dispose of its contents.

Emmitt returned a few minutes later, whistling as he approached as a warning signal. He placed both buckets near the fire, one closer than the other. Still whistling, he picked up the container, left the cave and came back seconds later with it emptied and rinsed out. He sat it back near Scott within easy reach.

Emmitt picked up one of the buckets – the one nearest the fire - grabbed a small cloth and a towel. He knelt down on Scott's left side. Rinsing the cloth in the warm water, he wrung it almost dry and began gently stroking it across Scott's forehead, down both cheeks, across his upper lip and around his chin. Unbuttoning Scott's shirt and pulling it down as far as possible, he rinsed out the cloth, wiped it around Scott's neck and then across the exposed parts of his upper chest and shoulders. Rinsing it again, he washed the exposed skin on both arms then handed the cloth to Scott who wiped his hands clean. Emmitt dropped the cloth into the bucket and handed Scott the towel. "Think you can manage?" Scott began rubbing himself dry. Emmitt was right; he did feel so much better. The boy rose, picked up the bucket and set it just inside the cave's entrance. Walking back to Scott he asked, "You still want to try to sit up a little?"

"Yes, just for a little while. Please?"

Emmitt smiled. "I'll be right back." He disappeared somewhere behind Scott returning only a moment later and dropped something just shy of the crown of Scott's head. He walked down to straddle Scott's hips. "Remember?" Scott nodded. Emmitt knelt down and used the tried and true method to lift Scott up. Emmitt held him with one hand and reached around Scott's back. When Emmitt lowered Scott down, he was supported by something firm yet which yielded just enough to cushion Scott's back. "Better?"

"Much, thank you. I was just thinking, you don't have a rifle or a revolver?" Emmitt shook his head. "But don't you think you might need one? What if a bear or a mountain lion . . ."

Emmitt laughed. "I have all the protection I need." He dropped down to the floor and sat cross legged. "So, tell me about yourself."

Scott absolutely hated talking about himself. He considered himself a very private man, especially since the war. It was his way of avoiding getting too close to someone; someone who could see into his soul and open that gaping wound of agonizing memories he had stuffed there so many years ago. Scott gazed out the entrance to the cave, trying to think of what to say. "Well, you already know I come from the Lancer Ranch and that my father's name is Murdoch. I have a brother . . ."

Emmitt nodded. "Johnny." Scott turned his head to look at the young man's face.

"Am I wrong? His name is Johnny, well actually his baptized name is John but everyone knows him as Johnny." Scott nodded, again wondering how this young man knew all that he seemed to know.

"Your brother is younger than you by about . . . oh four, four and a half years. You have the same father but different mothers. Johnny's mother was from Mexico. I bet he has black hair and crystal blue eyes. He used to be a gunfighter; called himself Johnny Madrid then. He was good too. Some might say the fastest draw and the most accurate aim in all of the southwest. You and he haven't been at Lancer very long. Just a year or so, I'd say."

Scott couldn't take his eyes off Emmitt's face. He had been listening with his mouth slightly agape. "How do you know so much about my family?"

"I know lots of things. I read a lot. Your brother's been written up in every newspaper between the border towns to eastern Nevada. He took the life of a lot of men but he has a good heart and, more importantly, a good soul. There was only one man in all that killing that he really hated; that he really wanted to see dead, and that was the man who murdered his mother. Every other life took a little bit of him away with it. He sought solace after every death. He maybe didn't look for it in the right places, however. A bottle and a woman . . . a saloon gal . . . can only provide distraction, not the kind of comfort he really needed. It's truly sad. You know he never in his life felt loved until he came to Lancer." Emmitt spoke with such calm and such sincerity.

The boy paused for emphasis. He could see the expression on Scott's face change from suspicion to sorrow as Scott lowered his eyes and toyed with one of the buttons on the cuff of his shirt. "You – you came to Lancer from out east. I can hear it in your voice. I bet you attended school there. Probably lived with a relative, like a grandfather. I bet he was strict too. I get the feeling that your mother had died or left for some reason and that Murdoch was just starting the ranch and really didn't have a way to take care of a new baby right then. Something like that would break any father's heart. I'm willing to bet he traveled out east a few years later meaning to bring you back. The ranch had been established by then so he probably knew he could make you a good home. He desperately wanted to love you but he didn't know how, you being his first child. He probably didn't like the way his father raised him and wanted something better for his son . . . his sons. It's truly sad. I bet he wrote to you all the time and I bet they all got returned unopened. I'm even willing to bet he reread those letters over and over again and probably kept them. You should ask him for those letters. They would serve as an incredible bond between the two of you."

"What happened to your head?" Scott asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Emmitt brushed back the hair from the left side of his forehead. "This?" He asked, pointing to a redden scar about three inches long. "Last thing I remember is that my horse got spooked by a rattlesnake and I fell. I hit my head on a rock."

"I think . . . I think I'm getting kind of tired. I'd like to lie down again for a while." Scott mumbled.

"Sure. We can talk more later. I'll get you settled and then go check my snares and see what we're going to eat for lunch." Emmitt supported Scott's head and shoulders to pull out the extra support and gently lowered Scott to the floor. "I'll be back in a little while." He made sure the canteen was within Scott's reach then walked out of the cave.

A lump had formed in Scott's throat as he listened to his young friend talk. Now that he was alone, he turned his head into his shoulder and let the tears seep into the collar of his shirt. He had never thought about how Johnny had suffered; had never imagined that his trips to the saloon every week meant more to him than just satisfying a young man's needs. Scott had never stopped to consider how Murdoch might have felt about having his first born taken away and practically held hostage by an influential and overpowering grandfather. If it were true, Scott never knew that his father had tried to get him back. He always assumed Murdoch didn't want to be bothered by a young child while he was trying to build an empire.

Scott lay quietly until, about an hour later, Emmitt returned. He had caught two prairie chickens. In his other arm, he held a couple potatoes and some carrots. He quickly cleaned the chickens and cut them into bite sized pieces than peeled and cut up the vegetables. "You like stew?" He asked.

"Sure, stew's fine." Scott muttered. "Where did you get vegetables?"

"Just down the road a piece is an old vacant farmhouse. It's leaning so bad that I'm scared to go inside but whoever lived there must have had a garden. Some of it is still growing, can you believe that?" Scott watched the boy put everything in the large kettle, add some salt and pepper, a little water, drop on a lid and set the kettle in the middle of the fire. "It'll take about an hour. Why don't we finish our conversation." Emmitt returned to sit on the ground near Scott's side.

"You said you were in the war. My Pa joined up. He was in the 83rd regiment, served under Sheridan. He as an army surgeon. Saved a lot of arms and legs on those poor soldiers. Saved a lot of lives too. Do you know that the Battle of Vicksburg raged for forty-seven days. Seventy-five thousand Union troops and thirty-four thousand Confederates. Lost a lot of men. Almost five thousand of the Union and over three thousand Confederates. " Emmitt shook his head in a kind of disbelief before continuing.

"I can see that your leg was saved. A lot of the kind of injuries you sustained ended up in amputation. It was quicker, that's why they did it. Took too much time to operate, find the bullet, put in stitches . . . You were a prisoner of war too. About a year I'd say. I can tell by looking at you. Those men have a sort of flatness in their eyes, a sadness, a guilt. The prisoners were never quite the same when they were released. It was harder for them to trust. Some became thieves fearing if they didn't take food they would never get any. You never talk about the war do you? If you can open up about your experiences, no matter how horrific they may seem to you, it would go a long way in building a relationship with your brother and your father. It would bring you so much closer. Think about it Scott. I know it would be painful, but you have to let that pain go or it will haunt you for the rest of your life. Say a little prayer." Emmitt rose. "I think that stew is just about ready."

Even with his belly full, his needs met, his injuries healing, Scott felt this awful hollowness inside. Was this young man right? He definitely possessed wisdom far beyond his years. His words had certainly given Scott a lot to think about.

"What do you want out of life Emmitt?" He asked after they had eaten their evening meal.

"Me? I don't ask for much. My needs are met. I have a wonderful home where I feel safe and loved. I really enjoy the work I do. I have a lot of faithful friends. I see my relatives all the time. I am filled with joy every day. That's more than a lot of people have. I just want to end up in a little acre in my hometown. Be close to my parents and my little brother. To have a plot of land that's all mine. Like I said, nothing fancy. Being surrounded by love and joyfulness every day is enough."

The men decided to get settled for the night. Emmitt made sure there was enough wood on the fire to burn until morning. He paused as he walked past Scott to make sure the blanket covered him and asked if he needed anything. Scott shook his head and closed his eyes. Emmitt blew out the lantern, kicked off his shoes and laid down on the cot. A short time later, Scott heard the boy's easy breathing and knew he was asleep.

Scott opened his eyes. Everything seemed to be all jumbled up in his head. Johnny, Murdoch, the war . . . he had so very many things to think about. Being an analytical thinker, Scott tried to categorize his thoughts but he kept coming back to one central theme: love. Strengthening the relationship between him and his brother and his father. Each man was looking for love in his own way and each man offered his love in his own way. He wished he had a magic wand he could wave so all the Lancer men could see what he was beginning to see. Perhaps he would have to be the one to teach them.

Scott slept on and off for most of the next couple days. He joined Emmitt for meals and in the evenings they conversed, Scott keeping to lighter topics like life on the ranch, the new cattle program, his affection for opera and the theatre . . . He asked Emmitt to tell him about his father, about the boy's favorite pastimes, and even teased him about having a special girl. Sometimes Scott simply remained silent, watching as Emmitt sat leaning against the entrance to the cave and scanned the Heavens. The boy always held a smile on his face as he gazed at the stars.

Scott couldn't believe how quickly time had gone by since he had been rescued. Before bed this particular evening, Emmitt made himself busy tidying up the cave, washing all the dishes, in general making sure everything was neat and in its place. Kneeling by Scott's side, the boy gently touched Scott's broken leg by laying his hands on either side of the splint and then running one hand down the leg from thigh to ankle. Laying his spread fingers on either side of Scott's chest, he squeezed very gently and watched Scott's face closely for any signs of pain or discomfort but found none. Sitting back on his heels for a moment, he said, "Well Scott looks like you are healing up just fine. I've done all I can do, now it's up to you. Remember it never hurts to say a little prayer." With that he stood, smiled down into Scott's eyes, blew out the lanterns and went to bed.

Scott groggily opened his eyes, stifling a yawn. Turning his head toward the entrance, he saw the sun shining brightly. A soft, warm breeze blew into the cave and made the air smell fresh and sweet. He rubbed the sleep from both eyes with his fists, blinking a couple times to clear them into focus. He rose up on one elbow. No soreness. He used his hands to push himself up into a sitting position. Looking around, he found things vastly different.

The cot, the small table and both chairs were gone as were both lanterns, the dishes, frying pan, coffee pot, the kettle and all the utensils. The traps were missing and all the firewood had vanished. In fact, the area where the fire had burned was as bare as the rest of the floor. There were no smudges of soot on the wall nor ashes or a blackened circle on the dirt. The area appeared as though it had never been touched by the outside world. Scott sat up a little straighter. Near the head of the travois sat one of the wooden crates. His shirt was folded neatly and there was a piece of paper sticking out of its pocket. Scott pulled the note free, unfolded it and held it at an angle to the sunlight.

_To my friend Scott, _

_It was time for me to return to my home. You are well enough to ride _

_now and so I left my horse as I won't need him where I'm going. _

_Your canteens, gun belt, saddlebags, boots and hat are in the crate _

_under your clean shirt. The bindings can be removed today as can _

_the splint. You will no longer have problems with your right leg when _

_it gets cold. Remember to tell your brother and your father how _

_much you love them every day. I left my watch in your shirt pocket _

_to replace the one that got broken. I no longer need it. Think of me _

_every time you look at it and say a little prayer. Remember too to _

_never depart from anyone in anger for you may not get the chance _

_to come back to them with love. A part of me will always remain _

_with you and keep you safe. I was so glad that I could be of service _

_to you. _

_Blessings, Emmitt M. Parsons_

Panic wrapped its icy fingers around Scott. It really hadn't been that long since the accident. Nothing healed that fast, especially broken bones. He knew this from firsthand experience through tending to his brother when he got shot, got into a fight, or was otherwise injured. Scott looked down at the splint on his right leg and swallowed hard. What if he took it off and tried to use his leg and the fracture hadn't healed? What if he fell and broke it again or it wasn't strong enough for him to hoist himself up and onto a horse? He would be stranded with no way to get help. He began to sweat.

Scott spread the fingers of both hands and laid them against his sides, pressing in gently. Nothing shifted, cracked or crunched and the soreness still present just yesterday was completely gone. He didn't know what to do. Emmitt had certainly gained his complete trust these past days but now he was gone, not even telling him he was leaving or waiting to at least say goodbye. Something was amiss but Scott couldn't put his finger on exactly what.

Scott decided to take the binding off first. If necessary, he could probably get it back into place. He remembered Emmitt's advice and tried to breath as normally as possible, relax his stomach muscles, take it slow and say a little prayer. Scott pulled the end of the top binding strip free and carefully passed his hands around his back and across his chest. No problems. Scott did the same with the second strip and then the third. There was only one strip left. Slightly apprehensive, Scott began unwinding it. When it fell free, Scott tossed it on top of the others.

Scott tried to very slowly take a deep breath. No pain. No soreness. He exhaled. No pain. No soreness. Scott mentally braced himself and looked down at his chest and sides. There was no bruising. He reasoned, however, that since he had been lying on his back for so long, perhaps the blood had settled in areas which he would not be able to see without a mirror.

Scott sat there a long time staring at his right leg. He finally came to the conclusion that, in any case, Emmitt was gone and would evidently not be coming back so he could sit there for weeks until he thought it was safe or find out for sure. He would kick himself but good if he waited, no food, little water, when he could have been home. Gritting his teeth, Scott bent forward and untied the first lacing. He worked his way down, stretching with all his might to reach the bottom one. Scott realized he was bending his knee and froze for a moment. No pain. No soreness. He let the pieces of wood fall to the sides but kept them up against his calf in case he needed to replace them. Scott couldn't tell where the skin had been broken by the jagged edge of the bone. He gently ran his fingers down and around feeling for any kind of depression but there was none. But that still didn't mean his leg would support his weight.

Scott tried to push himself up using both arms and just his left leg. He would have been able to do it if he had had something to hold onto to pull himself up straight. Scott reached around and grabbed the crate. Taking out all the contents, he set it aside. Keeping his right leg stiff, the knee locked, Scott slowly rolled over onto his stomach. He slid the crate in front of his face and grabbed onto it with both hands. Scott thought maybe he could do some kind of a one-legged pushup. He could brace his arms and hands on the crate and push up with just his left leg. He took a deep breath and counted to three. Grunting with effort, he got almost half way when the crate slid. He let go of it and placed his hands flat on the floor. Without thinking, Scott put his right leg down so he wouldn't fall completely flat. Scott froze. He shifted his weight to his left leg as much as possible but, amazingly, the right leg was holding its own with no pain or discomfort. He finally pushed himself up into a standing position and lifted his hands off the floor, but kept them outstretched in front of him just in case.

Scott's left leg was beginning to cramp from carrying the extra weight. Slowly and cautiously, Scott put more and more weight on his right leg until he felt centered. He took a tiny step forward and then another and then a little larger step and another and soon found himself walking around quite freely with no problems. Scott didn't want to push his luck, however, and turned the crate upright to sit down. He pulled his belt free of its loops then unfastened his waistband and fly. Standing he shoved his pants down to his knees before sitting again to pull them off the rest of the way. He unbuttoned the flannel shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. Looking down at his thigh and bringing his fingers up to it, he could no longer see the scar from his bullet wound nor feel the extra thickness of the scar tissue which had remained there after the stitches were removed.

Sliding his arms through the sleeves of his clean shirt, he buttoned the front and then the cuffs. Reaching into his saddle bags, he pulled out the extra pair of pants he kept there, pulling them first over one foot and then the other. Scott worked them up to his knees then stood again to pull them up the rest of the way. Scott tucked in the tails of his shirt and fastened his pants. He reached down to pick up his belt and threaded it through the pant loops and buckled it. Sitting down one more time, he pulled on his boots being extra careful with the right one. He stood up and bounced slightly. His leg might feel differently now that his foot was at a slight angle from the heel, but there didn't seem to be any problem. He walked around in a couple small circles to make sure before reaching down to pick up his gun belt and strap it on around his slender hips.

Scott pulled out the revolver and checked it over to ensure it hadn't been damaged but it seemed fine and was fully loaded. Sliding it back in the holster, he put on his hat, slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and picked up the canteens. He left the travois as it was. He could get another slicker. Who knows? Maybe someone else would need it someday. He folded the note and tucked it in his back pants pocket. Remembering about the watch, Scott slid his hand into his shirt pocket and pulled it out. It was a beautiful time piece and one that he would always treasure. Dropping it back in his pocket, he looked around to make sure nothing had been left behind.

Walking out into the sunshine, Scott found the horse tethered to a tree a few feet down the trail all saddled and ready to ride. He hooked the canteens over the saddle horn and tied the saddlebags in place. Being unfamiliar with the animal, he held the bridle in one hand and walked around to stand face to face with the bay. He let the horse sniff his hand than slowly moved it up to rub the horse's face, all the while talking to it in soft, soothing tones. Scott found him to be a very gentle animal. Holding the reins in his left hand, he hoisted himself into the saddle. If memory served, the main road would be to his southwest. He kneed the horse into a walk to see how the animal handled. Once they cleared the tree line, he urged the bay into a trot. The road wasn't as far away as he thought. Meeting the trail, he spurred the horse into a canter. If he remembered correctly, he should make it home by sundown.

CHAPTER 9

The morning was bright and clear with a gentle breeze coming from the south. After breakfast, Murdoch had retired to the den to catch up on some book work while Johnny went out the back door and sauntered over to the barn. He stood, hands on hips, looking at the roof. It sure was a long way up but what Johnny worried about more than that was that it was a long way down. He wasn't afraid of heights but neither was he a fool. The hands he had chosen to help him walked over to stand just behind their boss.

"Mornin' boss. Still going up there?"

"Mornin' Chico, Sam, Carlo. Yah, I don't reckin' I got a choice." Johnny looked over at the pile of supplies that sat next to the main barn door. "I want you to take all the horses, except mine, out and put them in the south corral. I'll move Barranca myself. You know how touchy he can be. I don't want them anywhere around where something could be dropped on them or fall on them, including me!" He added with a snicker. The men chuckled and walked into the barn. Johnny followed. "Mornin' amigo," he cooed, rubbing the palomino's nose. "Now don't get all worked up. We ain't going for a ride right now. I'm just goin' to take you out to the corral so you don't get accidentally hurt. You can watch old Johnny work on the roof." Barranca nodded his head up and down. Johnny smiled, grabbed Barranca's lead, walked him outside and put him with the other horses. He paused for a moment to study Mo. He wanted to make sure Scott's mount had settled down and wouldn't rile the others but he appeared perfectly normal this morning. Johnny shook his head. Women and horses; they had a mind all their own.

"How you figure to get up there?" Sam asked.

"The old fashioned way." Johnny said, grinning and picking up a length of rope. "I'm going to tie a harness around myself first then climb up into the loft. You can't see it from here, but there's a trap door that opens onto the roof. There's a ladder inside. Once I'm up there, I'm going to tie lengths of rope to the end of this one and throw it down to you. I'll repair one side first, the back side. So I'll throw the rope down the front side. One of you needs to tie it off and make sure it holds because that will be the only thing keepin' me from sliding off and I don't really feel like fallin' into a bunch of horse sh . . .manure although I guess it would be a soft landing." The men laughed along with their boss.

"Whoever isn't monitoring the rope on this side will have to spot me on the opposite side and call out which direction and how far up or down I need to move so the anchor rope will move accordingly. One of you needs to hoist up the supplies. He'll have to tie a rope around them, pull them up into the loft, drag them over to the trap door, climb up the ladder with the rope and hoist them up to the roof. Got it?" Sam looked at Chico who looked at Carlo then all three men looked at their boss and nodded. "Whoever does the supplies will have to stay up near the trap so the man on the back side can holler up to him and he can holler down to the man on the front side."

"Who will be on the rope side?"

"Doesn't matter. Flip a coin. I don't care just so whoever it is pays attention. I can say with certainty that if the big boss's son gets killed the man will be fired – if not shot!" Sam and Chico exchanged nervous glances. Johnny slung a coil of rope up over each of his shoulders. "I'm going to start climbing. You men had better decide and be in place by the time I get up there." Johnny sauntered off into the barn. One of the hands actually dug a coin out of his pocket and flipped it. Chico would monitor the rope and Sam would spot Johnny. Carlo lost both flips and would be the "supply man".

They agreed that when one side was done and Johnny switched so would they. Sam trotted around the barn and stood far back enough to clearly see the entire east side of the roof. A couple minutes later, Johnny climbed up and out of the trap door, sitting on the edge with his legs still inside on the top rung of the ladder. He tied a length of rope to his harness and tossed it down to Chico. It barely reached the ground. "Tie off another length. Make sure it's good and tight. Grab it and lean back with all your weight to make sure it holds." Chico was a stout man and weighed much more than his boss so if the rope held his weight it would surely hold Johnny.

Unbeknownst to Johnny, Murdoch stood at the window in the den, coffee cup in hand, and watched to insure his son would indeed be safe. It looked like Johnny had come up with a good plan. He watched as his youngest climbed out the trap door and straddled the peak of the roof. Pulling on his leather gloves, he pulled hard on the rope. It held. It appeared he hollered down to Chico who had wound the rope several times around a large tree trunk in the courtyard. Johnny swung his leg over the peak and disappeared behind the roofline. Murdoch watched as Chico slowly let out the rope before tying it up. Murdoch said a silent prayer that Johnny wouldn't get hurt and returned to his desk to work on the ledgers.

Johnny had completed the repairs on the back side of the roof before lunch. After eating with his father and reporting his progress, he tied the harness around himself again and the men worked together to get him up to the peak and onto the near side of the roof. Johnny straddled the peak of the roof pulling on his gloves and just as he was getting ready to be suspended, he spied a cloud of dust on the horizon. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he squinted in its direction for several minutes until whatever was making it cleared the tree line. Suddenly Johnny let out a whoop and scrambled back to the trap door and climbed down until he stood in the barn. Running into the house, he shouted, "Here come your cows, Pa." Spinning around he hurried back outside. Murdoch rose and walked out the front door, standing just a few feet behind his son. The herd was now so close that they could plainly hear the steers bellow. Johnny told Chico to go tell the hands before sprinting into the far corral and saddling Barranca. He swung up on his horse's back and took off down the drive calling behind himself, "I'm going out to meet them, show them where to pasture and welcome my brother home." Murdoch watched until Johnny was out of site.

Murdock trotted over to the bunkhouse to tell the cook to expect the drovers for supper and asked if bunks had been made up for them with clean sheets and blankets. Assuring that everything had been readied, he went back to the house and sat down in a chair on the porch to wait for his guests.

Johnny whooped and hollered all the way down the road. As he approached, one of the men rode around the herd from behind to meet him.

"I'm Nick Barkley", he said, extending his hand to shake Johnny's. "Want to show me where to pasture these beauties." Johnny rode slightly ahead of the men and told them to separate the bulls from the others and put the bulls into the east field and the remainder in the west field. Nick pulled his horse up next to Johnny's and watched until all the cows had been secured. Johnny kept looking around anxiously.

"Where's Scott?" He asked.

"Isn't he here?" Johnny shook his head. "We never met up with him on the trail. I figured he had ridden ahead to get things ready." A look of genuine concern shadowed in Nick's eyes.

"We better go tell Murdoch," Johnny said, turning Barranca around with Nick following him back to the house. When Murdoch saw the two men coming, he assumed it was Johnny and Scott. It was only when they got closer that he saw the one man was obviously taller and heavier than his son. He walked over to wait at the side of the barn. Reining up, both men alit and handed their horses over to that day's stable master. Johnny was pulling off his gloves as he hurried to his father's side. "Scott's not with 'em, Pa." Nick stopped next to Johnny and stood with his fists on his hips.

"Mr. Lancer," he said, shaking hands with Murdoch.

"Nick, good to see you again. How was the drive?"

"Started off a little slow, what with the rain and all, but we made up for lost time and from there on out we did real fine."

"Pa, Scott's not with them." Johnny repeated, pulling on Murdoch's shirt sleeve.

Murdoch patted his son's arm. Looking at Nick he asked about his eldest son. "Well, as I told your boy here we never met up with Scott on the trail. I figured he had gotten ahead of us and was back here getting things ready. I know he stayed at the house a couple extra days but it should have been easy for him to catch up with us or to get ahead."

Johnny fidgeted, pacing in small circles then side-to-side. Murdoch glanced into Johnny's eyes to find extreme worry in them. Murdoch took hold of his son's upper arm and held him still. "Johnny, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably stayed an extra day or so and just hasn't caught up yet. He'll be along. Why don't we take Nick in the house, let him clean up and then we can all have a drink and talk."

"But Pa . . ." Johnny whined. "It's Scott."

Murdoch let go of his son's arm and dropped his hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Come on. Let's not let our guest just stand here." Murdoch gently pushed Johnny forward then indicated with a wave of his arm that Nick should follow. Once in the house, Nick hung up his gun belt and hat while Johnny paced in the parlor slamming one fist into the palm of his opposite hand. "Nick, let me show you to your room. Get you settled. Let you get cleaned up. Take all the time you need." Murdoch led Nick up the stairs and showed him where the water closet was and where his room would be. Coming back downstairs, Murdoch found Johnny still pacing and still slamming one fist into his other hand. Just as he was about to walk over and try to get his son to sit down there was a knock on the front door. He opened it to find Dan standing on the other side.

"Telegram just come for you Mr. Lancer." Murdoch thanked Dan and closed the door. Johnny had stopped pacing and was staring at his father. Murdoch tore open the envelope and pulled out the message. His lips moved as he read and suddenly an expression of relief softened the deep furrows he had been holding in his forehead.

"Is it from Scott?" Johnny asked quietly, standing as though frozen in place.

"Yes." Murdoch watched as Johnny exhaled slowly and released the tension in his shoulders, causing them to slump slightly. "He says he will be home on Saturday by sundown and not to worry. Everything is fine."

"That's two days. Oh Pa, for a minute there . . ."

"I know son. I felt the same way." Murdoch crossed to the liquor cart, handing Johnny the telegram to read for himself. He poured a generous glass of bourbon for himself and a hefty portion of tequila for his son. As he handed Johnny the glass, Nick came downstairs. "We just got a wire from Scott. He'll be home on Saturday. Seems everything is fine."

Advancing into the parlor, Nick said "Well that's good. Couldn't have been better timing. I'm happy to hear nothing is wrong. Like I said, mother and Audra probably made him stay an extra couple days. Women! Once they get their hooks in a man it's hard for them to let go." Murdoch poured a glass of bourbon for Nick. All three men then held their glasses up in salute before taking a deep swallow.

During supper that night, Nick filled the Lancer men in on all the details of the drive. Murdoch was glad to hear that it went smoothly, despite the couple periods of rain. He then asked Johnny to show Nick where the bathhouse was and to make sure there were a sufficient number of clean towels. Shortly after Nick returned, they decided to call it a night and went up to bed. It would be the first good sleep Murdoch had had in almost two weeks.

Nick and the hands left Friday morning. They took the same trail back to Stockton. Nick suddenly had the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He was almost at the same spot where it had happened before. He looked up to where the side of the mesa had collapsed. Stopping his horse, he sat there a couple minutes staring up at the jagged rocks. It was quite a site from this angle. "Well, I'll be . . ." Nick commented before spurring his horse onward.

Johnny found chores to do that would keep him close to the house all day Saturday. After supper, both he and Murdoch took their drinks out to the porch and sat to wait. The sun was just setting. Before long, a lone rider came up the long drive. Johnny put his drink down and ran out to meet his brother. Walking alongside Scott's horse, he asked a million questions at once.

"Johnny, do you suppose you can wait until I've at least gotten off my horse?" Scott grinned slightly. Scott reined up his mount at the barn door and swung down. Murdoch had come to stand nearby and just as his son's feet hit the ground, came forward and pulled Scott into his embrace.

"It's so good to have you home and all in one piece. We were worried until we got your telegram." Murdoch released his son then dropped an arm around Scott's shoulders.

"It's good to be home sir."

"Come on Johnny," Murdoch called. "Let's get your brother into the house and put a drink in his hand."

Refusing liquor, Scott asked for a glass of milk and something to eat. The three men advanced to the kitchen where Scott and Johnny took their usual places at the table while Murdoch made his son a sandwich. Turning with the plate in his hand, he faltered for a minute. He recalled the morning that he wondered if he'd ever see his son sitting in that chair again and thanked the good Lord that Scott was back where he belonged.

Neither Murdoch nor Johnny asked Scott a lot of questions. It was clear by the look on Scott's face that he was extremely tired and his complexion a bit wan. In fact, as soon as he had finished eating Scott excused himself to go to bed. Johnny said he was tired too and threw his arm around his brother's shoulders as they climbed the back stairs. Scott's room being almost directly across from Johnny's both men stopped. Johnny looked up into his brother's eyes then threw his arms around Scott and held him tightly for a few seconds. Releasing his embrace, he whispered "Welcome home big brother." Scott grinned and put one hand on the doorknob to his bedroom. Johnny turned toward his door.

"Hey Johnny," Scott murmured. Johnny turned part way around. "Seeing as tomorrow's Sunday and we don't have a lot of chores, do you think we could get together after lunch. Maybe go up on the hill and just . . . talk?"

Johnny grinned. "Yah, I think that can be arranged. In fact, I'll look forward to it." Scott then entered his bedroom and softly closed the door. Johnny stood with one hand on his own doorknob and simply stared at his brother's door for a few minutes before turning to enter his room. Both brothers slept well that night.

The boys worked together the next morning, each eager to finish their chores quickly. After a hurried lunch, they saddled their horses and rode up to the ridge. Tethering the animals in the shade, they dropped down in their respective spots beneath the tree and leaned back against its trunk. Neither one said anything for quite some time until Scott began the conversation.

"Johnny, I want to . . . I need to tell you what happened to me. Why I was late getting home."

Johnny jabbed Scott's arm with his elbow. "Oh I think I've got that all figured out already. So how is Audra?" He teased, smiling. Scott dropped his head and began playing with a blade of grass he held in his fingers.

"Can we be serious please? It's . . . it's something I have to get off my mind." Scott muttered. Johnny's smile immediately faded. Rising to his knees, he crawled over to face his brother before sitting down cross-legged and picking up his own blade of grass to fiddle with in nervousness. Seeing Scott struggling to find words, he remained quiet. Scott then told his little brother all about the land slide, how he was trapped and injured, how he had been rescued and cared for in a cave and how he woke up yesterday morning to find the cave empty and a horse waiting. He also told him he had never sent a telegram. When he had finished, he looked up into Johnny's eyes.

Johnny immediately dropped his graze to the blade of grass. He didn't know how much of what his brother had just told him to believe because some of it was just totally unbelievable. He thought for a long time. Finally he looked up to see the pleading for understanding in Scott's eyes. "I don't know what to say big brother. I mean I believe you . . . sort of . . . but I just don't see how everything you've told me could have happened the way you say it did. I mean, no body heals from injuries like that so quickly and so . . . completely. If anyone would know, I would."

Scott turned his head and looked way off to his west. He wanted so much for his brother to accept the story he told as true and trust him but even he had to admit most of what had been said seemed farfetched. Looking back into Johnny's eyes, he searched for some sign that he had been believed. Johnny's eyes held great empathy but little else. "I didn't make it up Johnny."

Johnny cast his gaze down and tossed the blade of grass aside. "Emmitt knew all about you, you know. About your mother, about Mexico, about the men you've killed and how a little piece of you died right along with each of them. About how you looked for solace with a bottle and a woman after each death but that you were looking in the wrong place. That now you have that place, here at Lancer, here with me and Murdoch."

Johnny was shaken. All that his brother had said was true but how could he . . . how could anyone know that? He had kept that buried deep inside himself for many, many years.

"Emmitt also told me a lot about Murdoch. How he desperately wanted me back but just didn't have the means to care for a newborn at the time. How grandfather used his wealth and his influence to persuade the courts to issue guardianship papers over me, how Murdoch came to Boston on my fifth birthday to bring me back here and how Murdoch wrote me a letter every week but that each one was returned to him." Johnny snapped his head up and searched Scott's face. Could he possible know about the letters in the attic? Had he seen them at one point in time? It seemed unlikely but how else would he know about them.

"We talked about the war." Scott swallowed hard trying to force the lump in his throat away. "About Vicksburg, about the 83rd, about the cavalry and about how I got shot in the leg. He told me his father had been a surgeon under General Sheridan. You've seen the photograph Johnny, you know I served under Sheridan too. You've seen the scar on . . . that was on my right thigh. It isn't there anymore. We talked about the prison camps and how an escape had been planned and that I was the only one who survived. We talked about the 7th Cavalry." Scott's eyes rimmed with tears. The information he had just given had never been shared with his family before but he was glad to get at least this small snippet of the hell he had gone through off his chest.

Scott reached into his shirt pocket. "He left this for me because mine was crushed under the boulder." Johnny looked up as his brother laid the watch in the palm of his hand. Johnny examined it closely.

"This is an expensive piece." Johnny exclaimed. He turned the watch over to study the intricacy of the engraving on the back. Pushing the stem down gently, the cover popped open. "Emmitt Matthew Parsons." He read. "You said this kid was only fourteen or fifteen years old. I bet this was a gift, maybe from his father. I wouldn't feel right keepin' it. I mean, it's yours and I can't tell you . . ."

"No," Scott interrupted. "You can't but you're right Johnny. It's been bothering me ever since I picked it up yesterday morning when I found Emmitt gone. It's pretty much all I can think about."

"Then you know what you have to do, don't you?" Johnny asked, snapping the cover closed and handing the watch back to his brother. Scott nodded. "Chowchilla's not that far. I would be happy to go with you if you want. I'm sure Pa will give us the time off if we explain."

"Thanks for offering but no. You've asked me at least a dozen times for understanding when you've needed to take care of something you had to do and wanted to go alone. I'm asking you this once." Johnny nodded. He did indeed understand.

"You're doing the right thing Scott. You can always buy another watch but this kid might never get that chance, especially if it was from his father."

"I want to look at one more thing before I go." Scott said, pushing himself up and extending a hand to pull Johnny to his feet. "Will you come with me?"

"Sure Scott. Sure." They mounted and rode back to the house. Johnny followed his brother up the front stairs and down the hall to Scott's bedroom. Scott held the door open and invited Johnny inside, closing the door behind him. Johnny took a seat near the foot end of Scott's mattress. Scott knelt and pulled a worn and tattered box out from under the bed. He laid it almost reverently on the quilt and looked up into Johnny's eyes before taking off the cover and laying it aside. Scott folded back a couple layers of yellowed tissue paper under which lay the jacket of his Civil War uniform. Scott gently ran his fingers over the nearly threadbare, stained and tattered fabric. Lifting it carefully, he laid it inside the cover. Rummaging around in the items underneath, he pulled out a packet of papers. Unfolding them, the top one was his discharge orders and the inside pages were his medical records.

Scott unfolded the medical notes and found the notations about his leg. He scanned the fancy script, now somewhat faded, to find the doctor's name. Scott's eyes widen as he swallowed hard. As he handed the document to Johnny, he pointed. Johnny read the name H. , MD then looked up to find his brother studying his reaction. "That's the name of Emmitt's father." Scott whispered. Johnny shuddered and goose bumps rose on his arms. It was all becoming so real. He handed the papers back to Scott and while Scott refolded them, Johnny looked in the box. There wasn't much else in it; a loose button from the jacket, a worn tassel, a couple small photos and a notebook of some sort – badly worn with loose pages. He picked it up, curious to see what was inside, when Scott suddenly snatched it from his hand. "That's personal." He held the book in both hands and caressed the front cover. A change had come over Scott's face and a faraway look took over his eyes.

"I was just curious," Johnny murmured.

Scott gently placed the notebook back in the box, ran his hand over the cover once more, packed away his discharge papers and then carefully laid the coat on top. Refolding the tissue and replacing the cover, he slid the box back under his bed. Still kneeling on the floor, he looked up into his little brother's eyes. "Maybe someday Johnny. Maybe someday."

"Now I want to show you something." Johnny said, getting up and walking out into the hall and down toward the attic steps. Scott followed. Johnny crossed over to a worn blue trunk, opened the lid and braced the hinges. "Look". Scott walked over to stand at his brother's side. Johnny bent down and picked up a handful of envelopes. "Letters Scott. To you. One a week from the time you turned one year old until two weeks before you came back to Lancer. All returned from Boston. All returned by your grandfather. There's over a thousand of them. All written by Murdoch." Johnny handed the envelopes to Scott. "I found them when he sent me up here to clean the attic." Scott stared at the envelopes, tears rimming his eyes. Johnny pulled one envelope out from the very bottom back corner of the trunk where he had previously put it because it was a special one.

"Have you read these?" Scott murmured.

"Most of 'em, yah. I read for several days and nights almost steady."

"And what did they say?"

"I think you need to read them yourself Scott. They're your letters but let me say this, I learned a hell of a lot about our father. I see him in a whole different light." Scott sat down on the old chair that Murdoch had used. "Here, read this one first." Johnny handed his brother the envelope he had just pulled from the bottom of the trunk. Turning, he walked out closing the door quietly behind himself.

Scott felt totally numb. Letters. HIS letters written by his father every week. He thought Murdoch was glad to not have had him underfoot; to not be tied down by family obligations so he could build his empire. Scott's heart pounded. He laid the pile in his lap and held the envelope Johnny had handed him in both hands. He read the address: Master Scott G. Lancer, In Care of Harlan Garrett, Boston. Scott swallowed hard and, with trembling fingers he pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it. As he began to read, his tears began to fall. It had been mailed so that Scott would have received it a day or two before his fifth birthday. It told of how his father was coming to Boston to bring him home.

Scott couldn't finish the letter. The words swam and blurred through his tears and his heart melted. He sat there a long time. He wanted desperately to read every letter right then and there but knew that would be impossible. Finally, putting all the envelopes in his lap back into the trunk and closing the lid, he left the attic still holding the special one. He returned to his room and put it under some books in the drawer of his nightstand. He wanted to read it over and over but not now. Now he had something he knew in his heart he must do.

Scott crossed to his dresser and pulled out two shirts, a pair of pants, some socks and two pair of underwear. Tossing them on the bed he opened his wardrobe and pulled out his saddlebags. Stuffing the clothes inside, he made mental notes of what else he might need to pack after he had finished using it the next morning like his comb and razor. He heard the parlor clock start to chime and, checking his eyes in the mirror, went down to supper. During the meal he informed his father he would be leaving in the morning. He figured, if the weather held, that it would take three days to get to Chowchilla and three days to get back. He told Murdoch he would be gone a week and that if something came up he would send a wire.

Murdoch had a surprised look on his face. After all, Scott had just returned from almost two months on the road. He thought now that he was home things would get back to normal. Johnny had picked up a lot of Scott's chores and his youngest son deserved a break too. Seeing the look of dissension coming across Murdoch's face, Johnny spoke up. "Scott and I have talked about it. I'll pick up his chores. I'm getting used to it. I know that this trip is very important to him. He'll make it up to me." A tiny grin formed at the corners of Scott's mouth as Johnny gave him a quick wink.

"I guess it's all settled then." Murdoch said. "Can I ask what is so important?"

"Nope," Johnny answered. "It's a brother thing."

The remainder of the meal was completed in silence. Immediately afterward, Scott and Johnny both excused themselves saying they were tired and were going to bed. Once upstairs, Scott gave Johnny a hug. "Thanks." He whispered.

"I hope everything works out for you big brother. I really do." The brothers separated and each entered his own bedroom. Johnny said a little prayer for Scott and Scott pulled out the letter and read it several times before falling asleep with it still gripped in his right hand.

CHAPTER 10

Scott left early the next day. The sky to the northeast was gray and the clouds hung low. There would be rain by afternoon. He had borrowed Johnny's slicker and wrapped his bedroll in a tarp. The watch was tucked safely in his jacket pocket. The rain held off until after Scott had made camp that first night. He had found an old abandoned barn and even though the roof leaked in places, the majority of the space stayed dry for which and his horse were very grateful. He made good time the following day and rode into Chowchilla midafternoon the next day. A heavy drizzle had started up late the night before and still fell; the sky grey and hazy.

The town, although indeed small, was well kept. A handful of businesses lined the main street on both sides and were of the type typically seen in such an area. General store, feed and grain, livery, blacksmith, barber shop, dry good store, café, and, of course, a saloon. A few people hurried between the various shops, holding their collars up against the weather. Most did, however, either smile or wave to Scott. He would finger his hat to the ladies and wave back at the children. The folks seemed friendly enough. He reined Mo up in the middle of the block in front of the general store. When he opened the door, a string of bells suspended from the ceiling jingled cheerfully announcing his arrival. Taking off his hat, he gently shook the moisture off it being careful not to sprinkle any of the merchandise then returned it to his head. An older man wearing a white apron tied around his waist immediately came out of the back room.

"Howdy. You must be new in town," the man extended his hand and shook Scott's. "How can I help you?"

"Can you tell me where I can find Emmitt Parsons?" The proprietor got kind of a strange look on his face.

"You know the Parsons family, do you?"

"Not the family, no, just Emmitt."

The man raised his arm and pointed. "Just stay on this here street and ride west. You'll find him about a mile out of town."

Scott fingered his hat. "Much obliged." Turning, the bells announced his departure. Hoisting himself up in the saddle, he saw that the proprietor and an older woman – most likely the man's wife – had come out on the sidewalk. The woman drew a knitted shawl tightly around her shoulders, pointed at Scott and whispered something to her husband who merely nodded as Scott rode away.

Scott chuckled to himself thinking a stranger in town was probably big news in a sleepy little place like Chowchilla. He walked Mo slowly toward the west. He passed a couple small houses; their flower filled yards enclosed by white picket fences. A little boy waved from behind a large picture window hung with lace curtains from another much larger home. Scott smiled and fingered his hat. Not quite a half mile down the road, there stood a tiny church painted pristine white with bright red doors and two arched stained glass windows on either side. Scott rode on concerned that there didn't seem to be any more houses, just some neatly mowed vacant lots. He glanced back over his shoulder wondering if he had perhaps missed a junction; a turn or a fork in the road. Perhaps he had misunderstood the man's directions.

Riding on, Scott saw a small cemetery sitting off the side of the road. An arched gate announced "Little Acre Cemetery". Scott looked as far as he could up the road seeing nothing but open fields. Reining up Mo, he was just about to turn around when he spotted an elderly man digging a fresh grave toward the far north side of the cemetery. Scott decided to ask him; he looked as though he had lived in this town a long time.

He slid down from the saddle and tethered his horse to the hitching post just shy of the cemetery gate. Passing under it, Scott took off his hat and held it in both hands. The war had made him extremely respectful of the dead. Watching where he was walking as the stones were set in no particular pattern, he called out to the man as he approached so as not to startle him. The man looked up, grabbed a faded bandana out of his shirt pocket and wiped it across his face. "Howdy there young fella. You lost?"

Scott offered a tight lipped smile. "I'm not sure. I'm looking for a young boy by the name of Emmitt Parsons. I asked directions in town but perhaps I misunderstood."

The man dropped his shovel, wiped his hands on the thighs of his denim pants and extended his arm. "Well, help me out of this here hole and I'll take you to him." Scott grasped the man's hand and leaned his weight back to use as leverage. "You just follow me but be careful where you step so as you don't go fallin' down. I'm too old to pick you up." The man chuckled as he made his way down a crooked grass pathway heading east. Raising a heavily veined hand and extending an arthritic index finger he pointed toward the far fence. "He's right over there."

Scott immediately stopped. He didn't understand. Maybe the old man's hearing wasn't as sharp as it used to be. Maybe he had thought Scott had asked for the Parsons family, not just for Emmitt. The old man kept walking and was now a few yards ahead of Scott, who quickened his pace to catch up to him. Reaching out, he grabbed the man's arm from behind and the old man stopped and turned around. Raising a pair of faded blue eyes he looked up into Scott's face.

"I think you misunderstand. I am not looking for the family, just Emmitt."

"Yah, Emmitt, the son. Like I said, right over this way."

The old man turned down between two rows of stones and stopped at the very end. Scott stopped a few steps shy of the man's side, an expression of total confusion on his chiseled features. The man pointed as he spoke. "That there stone, well, that's the boy's father Henry Emmitt Parsons. He was a mighty fine doctor. Knew lots of fancy stuff. Always trying new things out he had read about in some medical book. Did a lot of good for the people around here. Saved a lot of them too. Even saved some that were beyond savin'. Volunteered to the army. Got killed in the war. Too bad to; he was young. Had a lot of good still to offer."

Scott read the stone: "Father Henry E. Parsons MD 1820-1863 Killed during the Battle of Vicksburg". Scott swallowed hard and blinked back tears. He had now confirmed that the surgeon that had removed the bullet from his right leg – saving it from sure amputation - was, indeed, this Dr. Parsons.

Pointing to the next stone, the old man continued. "That there was his wife. Real pretty little thing. I was at their wedding. Course I was only a little tyke then but I remember some. They lived in a big white house just this side of main street. Had a big picture window in the front of it hung with lacy curtains. The house stands vacant to this very day. Folks had so much respect for the doc they pooled their money and bought it for the town. Couldn't stand to see anyone else livin' there. Thought maybe someday when the town grew they could use it for a library or museum or something. Anyway, Mrs. Parsons died giving birth to the doctor's second son. He was out of town at the time, tending to a birth out in the country. He was a sad, sad man. Blamed himself for not being around to try and save her. Big funeral."

Scott read the stone: "Mother Catherine Emma Merkins Parsons and Babe, Wife of H.E. Parsons, 1821-1845". Scott felt a numbness surge through his entire body. His mother's first name was Catherine. She died giving birth to him. Scott had been born in 1845.

The old man shuffled a couple steps to the side. "This here is the young fella you're lookin' for. Really smart young whippersnapper. Tall kid, kind of lanky. Helped his father in doctorin' folks. I guess he must have been about 8 years old or so then. Not afraid of nothin'. Clever too. Liked to invent things and think of better ways to do stuff. Real tragedy. A rattler spooked his horse and he fell. Hit his head. Died right off. I was a pallbearer. Undertaker did a real fine job of laying him out. Combed his hair kinda down over his forehead so folks couldn't see the wound. Only fifteen years old. A real shame." The old man took out his faded bandana, blotted his eyes and wiped it under his sniffling nose.

Scott read the stone: "Son Emmitt Matthew Parsons, of H.E. and C. E., Fell from a Horse, 1842-1857. Scott felt as though he were going to faint. Everything the old man said fit perfectly with the story Emmitt had told him and yet how could that be? The boy had been dead over ten years.

"Well I'll leave you be. Folks like some alone time when they come out here. Maybe say a little prayer. I'm goin' to go finish diggin' that grave before all the dirt turns to mud." The man stepped over the stone behind him and limped off down the next row turning back in the direction from where they had come.

Scott couldn't take his eyes of Emmitt's stone. There was something almost hypnotic about it drawing and holding his gaze. His mind struggled to come up with some kind of explanation. There certainly couldn't be another boy by the same name, with the same history, in such a small town. It had to be "his" Emmitt but . . . Scott dropped down on one knee. He pulled the boy's watch out of his jacket pocket and ran his thumb across its beveled crystal. He didn't know what to do. Should he ask the man to dig a small hole near Emmitt's stone and bury the watch with its owner? He said a silent prayer for guidance; for a concrete answer from the Heavenly Father so he would know in his heart he had done the right thing. None came.

Scott looked beseechingly up into the gray clouded sky. Suddenly the clouds parted making almost a window in their midst. A ray of bright light shown down, resting upon Emmitt's stone. Scott looked around himself. The other stones were untouched, standing gray and still and the drizzle seemed to be falling everywhere except on his head and shoulders. Scott dropped his hat and used his free hand to run his fingers over the engraving on the boy's marker. It was completely dry. Someone whispered in Scott's ear, "Open the watch." Goose bumps instantly erupted over his entire body and a shiver ran up his spine. Scott took the watch and turned it over. He held it carefully, almost reverently, in the palm of his hand. With the fingers of his free hand, he pushed the stem down gently and the cover sprang open. When he turned the watch slightly to catch the light the engraving read "Scott Garrett Lancer". As quickly as it had come, the light disappeared. Scott had gotten his answer.

67


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